Donna
by Atheniandream
Summary: She can't go back. She's gone too far now. Set after 7.13 *CHAPTER SIX NOW UP*
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**

 **Beta'd.**

Okay, I've written the next two chapters. I wanted to get this out before the weekend, but 'The 100' has had me in Darvey free-fall.

 **To all the shippers :**

 _May Donna finally find happiness._

 _And may Harvey one day fight to keep her. _

* * *

**Donna**

 _By Atheniandream_

* * *

 _Come on now, will you wait_

 _I was wondering if you will wait_

 _And I was wondering to what seems_

 _Is that us all that we dreamed?_

 _I was wondering, if I could wait for you_

 _I was wondering, will you wait for me?_

 _Come now, what's 'a break'?_

 _Can you tell me if we're on or off_

 _So I can let go what I need_

 _Tell me where's the door and I'll leave_

 _I was wondering if I could wait for you_

 _I was wondering will you wait for me?_

 _I can't wait any long to chose me_

 _I could chose you_

 _Or nothing at all,_

 _I don't need you like I used to_

 _I can't wait any long to chose me_

 _I could chose you_

 _Or nothing at all,_ _ **'Will You' - By Daniel Wilson**_

* * *

The cold hard wind streaks through her hair, as she rides with the window down, her hands cold and powdery dry as they clench the steering wheel with an almost white knuckled intention. She blinks against the harshness of air that whisks around the cabin, the midnight teinted streak of the middle line blurring past her left periphery as polished wheels glide along the darker end of the highway.

She hasn't eaten. She hasn't changed. She hasn't even really prepared, save for a few things she'd thrown into a suitcase with sense of abandon.

She had just... _left work_ , hailed a cab, packed quickly, rented a car,

 _And then started driving_ north.

Far away from New York City. Away from it all.

 _She can't explain it._ It's a feeling, mostly. Pure and ripe and raw. A realisation,

 _That she had wasted her life._

She can't quantify it, and every time she does, she's met with this contradictory panic, that reverberates through her being.

She thought she had worked it all out. That she wanted more from life. And what that 'more' was. Only to be met with the galling understanding, that maybe what she had truly wanted, deep down,

 _Was Harvey_ _._

And more than that,

The crux of the problem,

Was that she'd given everything up... _ **for**_ Harvey.

 _The Theatre._

 _Her dreams of a family._

 _Marriage._

 _Travel._

 **Love.**

She'd given everything up and she hadn't even noticed until she realised that _he_ was 'the' thing. The one thing missing from her life. Even as they sat there, side by side, day after day until she started to witness her life stagnate and the days started to lose their colour,

 _He was it._ And she hated that fact.

Her eyes are streaming now, the tears salty, and evoking a pulsating pound to echo in her head. She's dehydrated. That was a given.

But she daren't stop.

She can't go back. And she's gone _too far_ now.

Donna Paulsen let a man get under her skin. A man that didn't want her.

A man that didn't love her _enough_.

Her eyes blink at the words 'Connecticut Welcomes You'

She thinks of Mark, and the regret at calling him up after almost five years.

 _Another mistake. Another one that didn't fight for her._

She had been so lost and so desperate to connect with someone that she had loved, that she had almost done the one thing she swore she would _never_ do. Rachel had caught her. Had reminded her of her standards. Of her worth. Where others, more important players in her life, had not.

 _ **They never fight** ,_ she reminds herself. _They never seem to find the energy to keep me._

And then it hits her,

 _ **Fire. Unbridled in her gut, enough to make her seethe.**_

So, she jumps to the 287, streaking further north.

 _Dodging Mark._

 _Dodging her Mother in Cortland._

 _Dodging the city that she's had a real love affair with,_

And Dodging the man, who still remains in that city.

The one who has her heart in his suit pants pocket.

 _She needs to get somewhere._

 _And nowhere_

 _Anywhere._

 _All at once._

* * *

She makes only one stop, after a few hours, and only as the counter reaches past the red line. Picking up a pack of Big Red, and a vitamin water as she pays for the refill of gas with cash in her purse. The guy behind the counter looks at her messy auburn hair and lavish dress and gives her an expression that leads her to assume she looks like _one_ half of a duo. Like Bonnie and Clyde or an uptown Alabama and Clarence. Even Thelma, but _without_ the Louise.

 _Without that other half._

 _Like there's a story to tell there, and they're somehow not quite 'caught up' on the drama..._

She swallows thickly at the thought, and slides back into the car. It's not sleek or imposing, like others she's seen. Like the cars that orbit her work day. It's just a standard light silver Hyundai. Nothing like her lifestyle, and nothing like _his_.

But she feels like nothing, right now.

And maybe that's the point.

Hours pass, until she starts to glimpse burnt orange and candied pink as it peeks above the flat horizon line and it lights up the space around her with a ordained glow that bounces off the dashboard. For a moment it's like the entire night has flown by in a second, until she regards the road signs that remind her of the next checkpoint. The i87 has fared her well, as she sees the 'border control' looming.

She takes a moment over the C-A-N-A-D-A.

She's never been.

 _To Canada._

It's not something that Upstate New-Yorkers do, unless they're seriously into their camping, which she never has been. She'd nearly gotten the chance, with her Junior Pistol Championship, until a case of Mono had completely quashed her chances, and she'd vowed, from there on in, never to regard Canada as anything other than _a bad omen_.

Right now, anywhere but the familiar was a good omen.

And so...Canada was _back on the map._

Her mother always told her,

 _'If you ever get in the car with no place to go,_

 _Always_ _take your passport'._

She smirks at the memory, her hand sliding into her Balenciaga bag, and sure enough... _she had remembered it._ _It wasn't a dream_ , she thinks, starting to fold with a tiredness.

The guard looks at her strangely. Again, she's dressed to the nines and now seemingly ropier looking than before.

When he asks her why she's coming to Canada, and she responds with 'Holiday', he looks at her strangely.

She decides then, never to go to Canada on a whim.

It's looks exactly like what it is…

 _Like she's running away._

She would have gone to her Mothers. Travelled the short distance to see her. Enveloped herself in nostalgia and hugs and warmth and pie.

But oddly, she is ashamed. Ashamed at how she's gotten herself tangled up in this mess. And so angry at herself, for letting it go so far. She doesn't want to connect with any of that right now.

She wants to get away.

So... _she continues._

Only an hour or two more. Just something to push her over the line. _To neutral country._

* * *

Canada is….greener and quieter than she thought it would be. The water overlooks part of the city, now splashed with after-dawn. _She needs to find a hotel, stat_ , she thinks to herself, and pulls over for a moment, searching on her phone and silently thanking her international cell plan.

She swipes the phone quickly, avoiding things like the Ritz-Carlton, the Sofitel Montreal, - _all too much like Harvey's expectations_ \- and The Mount Stephen - _far too ironic_ \- until she pauses at the perfect choice.

 _Hotel Le St James._

It's rich in french architecture, and lavish with a big dose of dramatic and overly rich decor.

It's the perfect compromise between something different, and something close enough to counter her _much needed_ drive. Her head is clearer now, but It's almost seven in the morning as she arrives outside a large stone fronted building on the corner of St Jacques Street, with ivy that streaks up one corner of its imposing facade.

She sighs, pulling her suitcase onto the tarmac and up the stone steps, handing her keys to the young busboy that waits for her, as she glides through the door.

She sighs, as she enters the lobby, full of walnut antique panelling, and dark green tiled floors, that open up to a beautifully lit hall, with apple green and silver chairs the promise of unbridled elegance, and two mirror glasses letters stood on a ledge that spell the restaurant 'XO' that's she's heard good things of.

She realises, she's finally _somewhere._

 _The need for a shower and some sleep is imminent, now. Overdue, almost._

She slides up to the counter, her suitcase rolling with a whirr.

"Bonjour and Good Morning Madame, welcome to the Hotel Le St James - can I take your reservation?" The youngish man with a slightly french lilt to his accent asks her.

She swallows, her expression deliberately plain. "Hi. I don't…. _have_...a reservation." She replies, reservedly.

"Okay… bear with me for one second. Please?" The man asks. There is a fussiness to his tone that speaks of the french-ness of the place. She struggles not to smile to herself. "Now, what _kind of room_ are you looking for?

"Is your... _Junior Suite_ available?" She asks.

"Let me a have a look. Yes, It is…" The man replies, typing on the screen in front of him. "For how long would like that for?

"About a week? _Five..days_?" She says, off the cuff.

She blinks, regurgitating the words in her mind.

 ** _Okay. So she's staying in Canada...for a week._**

 _So much for 'one' Personal Day..._

"That will be…. With the Junior Suite...a total of _three one two five_."

She balances a game face, the numbers falling together.

"Canadian?" She enquires, inferring the currency.

"Yes." The man clarifies.

 _She's never paid thirteen American dollars for a room before, let along in Canadian dollars..._ But, she has the money now. Even after her buy-in she still had two hundred grand in change.

She smiles then, picking out her savings card - _ignoring the Corporate card of Harvey's that still sits in her wallet -_ and hands it to the Concierge, watching as he processes the payment, only pausing for a moment to hand her the payment device so she can sign her name. Her hand moves, noticing the Paulsen.

Miss Donna Paulsen.

She sighs, as she hands the device back.

She's too young to still be a 'Miss'. And it's not the pressure of feminine conformity. It's the expectation that one places on oneself. If she's honest with herself, she's tired of signing her name as _just_ that. Of seeing the familiar scrawl, and their not even being the whiff of insinuation at more than what she writes. It's a dismal thought, but it's sadly true. She wants... _more_. She has been so resilient, but she needs more, now. **_She wants to be 'someone's'._ **She blinks, feeling out of body now, at the blanket of tiredness that falls over her, as the Concierge hands her the hotel key. _Another piece of plastic_ , She thinks to herself, sighing before smiling limply at the gentleman as she wanders away from the desk and over to the elevator.

She realises she's been in a daze, when she stands in front of the number '206'.

It's a gut wrench. The door is walnut coloured, unlike the black of the now or white of her past. But there's something in the coppery letting that catches her attention, and falls on the achingly familiar. She slots the card into the holder, a click emitting from it as she presses the door handle, opening out into a very different space to that of her little apartment in Midtown.

The room enters into a hallway. She walks of the threshold, closing the door behind her, before placing her suitcase to the side, figuring that she'll sort her things out later.

The room is large, with a sense of Indian Occupation and Upper Class French Revolution about it, with the ornate bed and lounging chairs in caramel and coffee colours, offset by white panelling and cream shutters. There are plants littered about the place, and a beautiful fireplace in iron and goldleaf.

She assumes there's more to see here. A bathroom, and a door to another room.

Her eyes zone in on the bed, the twisting four poster style becoming immediately inviting. She slips off her shoes, her hands bending behind herself to unclasp the top of her dress, as she unzips herself out of it.

She's more a awake for a moment, pushing herself towards the last mile, as she wanders into a marble clad bathroom, with a shower and a slipper bath, in various pearlescent shades. She discards her underwear, turning on the mixer tap and pulling the shower door to, twisting her hair into a knot atop of her head.

She lets the steam build, the large room beginning to cloud into a foggy white mist, as she leans against one side of the cubicle. When the temperature is just right, she puts her entire face under it, closing her eyes against the feeling of heavily dropping rain like water.

 ** _She wakes up to the familiar sound of a door closing, as she looks about her room._**

 ** _He's gone_ _, she thinks to herself, the pit of her stomach dropping as she lays back down._**

 ** _Typical Harvey. She swallows the disappointment in his unwatered character._**

 ** _She closes her eyes for a moment, letting herself concentrate on the faint ache just under her abdomen, and the smell of him still on her sheets. She'd spot that cologne anywhere._**

 ** _An image flashes in her mind, of him on top of her. Of his his eyes, electric and dark and piercing into hers with every thrust. The feeling of the smooth skin on his muscular shoulders, and the way her fingers pressed into them, her burgundy nails scratching lightly at his back..._**

 ** _Suddenly she's frowning again, a strange feeling of loss morphing inside of her._**

 ** _She rips the covers back,_**

 ** _And jumps into the shower._**

 ** _To rid herself of all possible expectations..._**

She realises she's been in the shower so long, she'd forgotten to keep her hair out of the water. It's now soaking, having dropped out of it's knot and fallen down her back. And she's finally tired out. The shower gel has the faintest hint of bergamot and lemon.

Just

Like

Harvey.

 _She doesn't cry. But she mourns her own self for a moment longer._

For the first time in her life,

She feels like she got it all wrong.

Like the first time, _The Other Time_ , was a marker,

Of something important,

A warning. That she had missed completely.

* * *

Rachel Zane wakes up to an unnatural start, her arm flinching under the weight of her other half's as he groans, and rolls over, a mess of blonde hair and boyishness. She whispers her apologies in his ear, kissing his cheek as they both hear her phone buzz. At first, her inclination is the alarm, until she scrambles, silk nightie clad and moves to flick through her phone.

It's a message from _Donna._

Her stomach drops for her friend.

All it reads is: _**Rach. I had to get away. I've messaged Louis. D x**_

She sighs, her eyes closing for a moment.

She decides _not_ to tell Mike.

She doesn't want to get in the middle of things.

If Mike knows, and Harvey asks...it won't make things better.

* * *

Harvey Specter feels great. He woke up to a beautiful woman this morning. No one is coming after his firm after he put the world to rights and buried the threat. **_The world is his, now._ **For all intents and purposes, he's onto a winner, as he swaggers into his firm.

It takes about forty five minutes, until he remembers he'd left a file with Donna the night before.

He rounds the corner, peering into yellow and peach decor.

 _Nothing._

 _No Donna._

 _And no files._

He frowns. She's always there before him. He's noticed, that in gambling his secretarial duties, and her own role, she's in the office by at least eight every day, and most nights she doesn't leave until ten.

Suddenly the impulse strikes him. A possible answer to his question, as he marches down the hall.

* * *

"Morning Louis." Harvey greets, looking down at his Partner.

"Harvey." Louis regards. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asks. Harvey notices the man is throughly distracted.

"Do you have any idea where…. _Donna_ is?"

"She's not coming in today." He says simply, continuing to type with a fury.

He frowns immediately. "Why not? _Is she sick_?" He asks.

"Not that I know of." He says calmly. "She's taken some... _Annual leave_." He says.

"Oh. Right. She didn't clear it with me…" He says, absent-mindedly.

"Well, she doesn't need to. As long as one of us is aware. I signed off, so.." Louis explains, before continuing to type.

"Of course." He says, remembering then. _She's not your secretary anymore_...he chants in his head He's still getting used to that. _Fourteen Years is a long time to break out of an ingrained habit._ "You don't happen to know where the uh..."

He pauses in his train of thought, as it occurs to him that Donna will be _the only one_ that knows about that file.

"The 'what'?" Louis asks, giving him a strange look, before continuing once again to type furiously.

"Never mind." He nods then, half-frowning and leaving a rather distracted seeming Louis, as he wanders back to his own office. He pauses before he gets there, her office catching his attention once more. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his contacts before finding her name. He presses it to his ear as he reaches for the button of his suit jacket, sitting behind his desk.

 _ **Hi, this is Donna. Leave a message**_ **.** He hears the familiar tone, before clearing his throat, a slight annoyance at her answer phone chiming in.

"Donna. Hey… Sorry, I know you've taken the day… It's just that I need the Weistmann file? I can't find it in your office. Or mine. Call me back. Bye." He says, before stuffing his phone back into his pocket.

* * *

"Morning," He hears Mike round the corner into his office, as he glances at the man, a mixture of the youthful bounce from his 'Associate' days, and a swagger that he's sure the young man's tried to steal from him.

"Morning." He responds, smirking slightly at his younger counterpart.

"How was _**your**_ night?"

"By you asking me that...I assume that you had a...memorable one." He counters, giving the guy a look.

"I did." Mike agrees. "There's nothing like burying a threat, and then finishing off the day with...lots _and lots_ of sex."

"Ditto." He remarks.

He notices Mike decline to comment, when a breach of silence bounces between them.

 _He hasn't had the balls to ask his friend, what gives, just yet._

 _He has a hunch that he's not entirely comfortable with broaching with his best friend._

"By the way, where is Donna?" Mike asks, a notable change in the subject.

So he's not the only one noticing her abrupt absence.

He clears his throat, straightening in his seat. "She's... _taken a personal day_." He replies, his eyes flicking back to his work.

"She okay?" Mike frowns, a concerned look on his face.

 ** _Mike's always had a soft sport for Donna. Their friendship has never once faltered in that regard._**

"You tell me." Harvey responds. "Has...Rachel...said anything to you?" He asks, carefully moving over the insinuation.

"No? Why? Did she not tell you that she wasn't going to be here?"

"Uh...No." He says, swallowing the truth of such a thing.

"Oh." Mike says, frowning slightly in a way that makes him want to pick up on his earlier silence.

"It's nothing...I was just...looking for a file." He says, shutting his laptop then. "Shall we see how many more deals we can knock out of the park, today?" He offers, standing up.

"If you're game, I am." Mike smirks, following his Boss.

* * *

 **Over the course of the day, Harvey calls her four more times than he ever has in one single day.**

 **All from his _own_ cell phone.**

* * *

 _Won't you be the one to calm the storm yeah_

 _Won't you be the one to calm the storm darlin', right now_

 _I said I need somebody baby_

 _Calm the storm, calm the storm, calm the storm, calm the storm yeah_

 _Calm the storm, calm the storm, calm the storm, calm the storm yeah_

 _Calm the storm_

 _Sometimes I try to_

 _Calm the storm_

 _Sometimes I want to_

 _Calm the storm_

 _Sometimes I wish I could_

 _Calm the storm_

 _Sometimes I try to_

 _Calm the storm_

 ** _'Calm the Storm'_ by Graffiti 6**

* * *

More coming very soon. A_


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:**

Many thanks for reviews guys! I'm surprised but somehow not so at all the reviews saying that Donna needs to move on. I'm kind of reaching that way too. Let's make Harvey work for it.

And, let's see where this leads Donna.

Hopefully tonight's episode actually clears up a few things that I feel are **_far_ **overdue.

 _A x_

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 _I dream in blue and green of all the things that I have seen  
Of waters wide and clean and I know  
That in the moment that I drown it's always you who is around_

 _I've made my peace with that and so_

As the water begins  
To slide up my skin  
And I'm fighting giving in to you

Like those moments before  
When you walked out the door  
Leaving me in need of more from you  
I need more from you

Well I can breathe, I can see  
Death he doesn't bother me  
I've been thinking it's a peaceful way to go  
I'm moving out, from the shore  
And I can't hear you anymore  
There is something calling me from down below

' _Water' by Eliza Shaddad_

* * *

When she wakes up, peeling an eye to a golden sun that streams into the gap where she hasn't quite pulled the curtains properly to, she blinks, chasing her surroundings. It's then that she spots the ornamental clock in front of the bed.

 _It's almost two o'clock._

 _She had slept well into the afternoon._ She frowns, then. _Of course she did,_ she thinks to herself.

 _She drove to_ _ **Canada**_ _._

 _That was bound to take her down, eventually._ But of course, that had been her objective, to exhaust herself. To completely run out her overactive mind and palpable feelings. She had needed her body to take over from the gambit of emotions still flying through her. From those memories re-awakening. From the stark images of all the moments - _over a decade worth_ \- that didn't make sense to her anymore.

She clambers about the large bed, it's fluffy duvet almost drowning her delicate frame, and immediately looks around for her suitcase. She'd fallen asleep in a bathrobe, the clean white towelette of it had made her feel warm and cared for and comfortable enough to surrender. She's never really slept in, so it seems so strange to wake up at this time. She's always been an early riser and a coffee addict. Right now, with a rising alertness of the passing day and a slowly awakening grumble within her stomach, she's suddenly ready for some food and _the largest_ coffee she can lay her hands on.

 _Like...barrel sized..._

 _She'd pay good hard money for a coffee of that quantity._

In about five minutes, she's changed, pulling her hair into a bun, and wrapping a dress around her, pulling the door to.

The Restaurant is busy, with various people milling about the place. She greets the Hostess, who seats her in a corner, on one of the soft corner benches, right underneath a large bronze lampshade that almost doubles as an installation.

The atmosphere around her is humming at a low level, buzzing with promise of the day. She only has half of it left, but decides that there's no point in rushing to claim it. She needs to keep herself busy, but also relaxed. Her only task is to enjoy. To experience. To...evoke the mind but _tune out_ the static.

"Good Afternoon, Madame," A young waitress beams down at her. She is fair haired, kind looking and with that, Donna feels herself relax instantly. "My name is Monique."

"Hi Monique. I'm Donna." She smiles softly.

"Nice to meet you, Donna. Here is your menu for today's _a la carte_ lunch, which will run until four thirty." The young woman explains.

"Perfect, because I am _starving_." Donna admits, her eyes widening with the fact.

The young woman laughs in reply, pulling her tiny pad out of a black waist bound apron. "Can I get you a beverage?"

"Oh, Yes. I would like an...Americano...wait, do you have any," She stops the impulse, her voice dragging into a pause.

 _Vanilla_.

 _It's always been her thing. And then it became theirs_. _Another ritual_...

She swallows thickly, changing her mind in an instant as she covers the threatening streak of emotion.

 ** _New things._**

 ** _Different things._**

 _ **Things that are just her…** that's what she needs. _

"Actually, no. Just an Americano. Large. And some table water. Thank you." she smiles.

"No problem." Says the waitress. "I'll be back in a moment to take your order."

Her smile falls into limpness, as the woman sashays away with her drinks order. She sighs, the back of her hands sliding down the corner edge of the table as she regards her surroundings once more.

She remembers, then, the pit of her stomach dropping.

 _Work._

They'll be needing her. Nay, _expecting her, tomorrow morning_. Eight o'clock sharp.

She's been too afraid to turn her phone on since this morning.

 _Been avoiding it, more like._

She can lie to them, _any of them_ , without so much as batting an eyelid, if her resolve declares it so. But she can't lie to herself any longer.

The truth is,

It's still off, in case Harvey dares to contact her.

She doesn't think that he will. _But he might._ There is the smallest of she just can't bring herself to face that right now.

She decides then, that she needs to inform Rachel that she'll be taking a little 'extended' and impromptu vacation. Maybe her friend can help her encourage Louis to officially wrangle her some more time.

It's childish, she knows this.

Perhaps, she's just a decade overdue on some time off.

 _Perhaps she's just had enough._

 _Perhaps she's just had enough...of Harvey's bullshit._

She draws a breath, trying not to force the action into a more momentous one, as she turns on her phone.

She holds her breath, watching her iPhone come to life.

It's only been a night and half a day, but her phone is already abuzz with updates and statuses and emails and notifications.

 _And three message updates:_

One from Louis,

One from Rach,

And a message of a voicemail... _ **from Harvey Reginald Specter,**_ _**Esquire.**_

Her breath catches, a slight panic building. In a flash, her fingers have done the talking, as she scrolls to the answer phone setting, the three options in red underneath the sound file.

And then, like a blip, it's as if there was _no message at all_.

One click and - _**delete**_.

 _Just like that._

She continues, and reads Louis's message, a mere perfunctory reply stating that she has accrued enough days to take five or so _years_ off, and one from Rachel, just saying:

 _ **If you need me, I'm here. Rach xx**_

She smiles at that.

 _Rachel, the empath._

"Have you decided what you'd like to order, Madame." Her attention is caught by the waitress, who looks down at her with a promptness.

She breathes in, her shoulders levelling as she regards the menu once more.

"Donna, please." She insists. "And yes," She replies. " _Everything_."

She realises, after.

The word speaks for _more_ than just food.

They speak for _**her**_.

* * *

After a late lunch, she wanders, taking in the sense of fresher air and relative open space of Montreal.

She had just about remembered a choice french phrase - something she'd learnt only once, off a young french girl in College, ' _Je suis desole, Je ne pas le parle Francais'_. It sang on your tongue and had this beautiful flow to it. She'd also learnt _that day_ , that if you said it in the _perfect_ French accent, that you'd probably get a laugh from anyone fluent in the language.

 _A little dry french humour and ice breaker all in one._

 _But_ _that_ _will only get her so far, in a city steeped in culture._

She feels like she hasn't quite grasped the world of language in general. And for a woman who had wanted to be an Actor, it wasn't the kind of realisation that lit large fires. But she buys a phrase book anyway. Like her very own 'Roman Holiday' she would grasp the difficulties of an almost language barrier, and use Montreal as the opportunity to flex a muscle of language in an environment that had a rather large safety net. Admittedly, French was most likely different here, than it was in _actual_ France, but a little french was better than absolutely none at all.

She roams aimlessly, taking in moments, and shapes and colours, until she comes across a choice location, The Montreal Museum of Fine Arts.

Outside, there is a banner, advertising one of their special exhibitions.

She almost gasps, like a bimbo love interest in a nineteen fifties movie.

 _The banner merely reads:_

' _ **LOVE IS LOVE**_ _ **'**_

In **bold** gold letters.

She sighs.

 _Typical._

She can't even run from the last two months of her life, for more than a day.

The words give her doubt and frustration and a cliff hanger that puts her life on the knife edge of decision.

So, she does the bravest thing she can do,

And steps _right_ into the building. With no fear.

And of course, it's one of her favourite designers, Jean Paul Gautier - _she still longs for the 'Madonna' corset to this day, like many of her youth_ \- and his collection of….wedding dresses. _Of all things._

She swallows, a tight lipped smile reflecting at one of the warmer customer assistants in the ticket booths, and continues through a turnstile. She tells herself that Rachel would have loved this. That the research will be useful for her upcoming nuptials, as Maid of Honor. But there is a part of her, one hidden and long since drowned in Whiskey that she never really liked, that pricks its ears up at the concept of shopping for her future.

 _An ambiguous man-less future, but a future, nonetheless._

It takes about fourteen minutes, before her mind is almost completely submerged in a rather potent dose of _fashion_. In the stunning and yet seemingly delicate lines of feathered tulle and silk and gemstone laden gowns. They are bold, and harsh, and statement-making, with details that give the every single one an individual edge to them.

For a moment, she imagines just how her own coppery hair - perhaps a shade lighter and brighter, nearer to a coral tone - would look against the creams and ivories and perfect peaches. She wonders if the groom would wear blue, to compliment her, or perhaps silver, or even _grey_...

Suddenly greying beards start to morph into chiselled features and darker eyes, and she feels a jolt, that the game is firmly over.

She clears her throat and directs herself to the exit, dashing her feelings at the door.

She wanders out into the daylight, and feels the heavy sunlight rid her of all her ailments.

She decides then, that she needs a firm drink, to drown her first day in this subtly romantic city.

It is painful.

 _But it is real, at least._

* * *

Rachel finds herself slowly, but surely getting involved. And reluctantly so. Now, if it had been any other person, she would have been annoyed.

But Donna never asked for a thing, over all the years that they had been friends. She had always, _and continues_ to be there for others - including herself - and always offers council when it is needed.

She would do anything for this woman. As she knows she would do for her.

It's a small thing, all things considered...

She knocks on the door to Louis Litt's office, noticing him oddly focused for a lunchtime hour.

"Louis...do you have a sec?" She asks, her expression belying the true nature of her question.

" **Make it quick, I'm in the middle of my morning flow**." He counters, the words coming out like distant gunfire.

"Okay...but it's the afternoon," She counters, looking confused for a second. "Just to..."

"So, I'm behind, what's it to you?" He fires at her then, straightening in his seat with a defensiveness.

She frowns then, at Louis's sharp edge. "Louis...what's wrong? You seem...agitated." She asks, being direct.

She watches as the man inhales with an effort, his expression folding into remorse, only then.

"I'm sorry Rachel...I'm...distracted...what can I do for you?" He asks then, checking himself.

"It's actually...not... _for me_. _It's for Donna_." She clarifies.

"What does she need? Is she okay?" He asks, frowning.

"She's….okay. She...needs to take more time off." She half-explains.

"Did something happen?" He asks, his face reading the over-assumptions for any number of wildly thought up reasons.

"Nothing... _serious_ , just...she needs the time." She replies delicately. "Can you...?"

"Is this about her ex boyfriend?" He asks then, his fingers clasping together with an abruptness.

She blinks. _Maybe Donna has told Louis more than she ever let on..._

"I'm...yes. _Maybe_." She says. "She just needs more time off. Can you work it out for her?'

"For her. Anything," He replies staunchly, nodding.

"Thankyou Louis." She smiles warmly, her nose twitching.

"No problem, Rachel." He says, waiting for her to leave.

She feels something in herself, as she turns back. "And Louis…"

"Yeah?"

"If you need to talk... ** _about anythin_ _g_**...you know where I am." She says, giving him a kind smile, before wandering back down the hall.

For the first time all day, Louis Litt takes a calm, unfiltered breath.

And for once, doesn't think of _Sheila Sasz_.

* * *

Donna Paulsen climbs into her hotel bed like a dirty college graduate. She hasn't done that since...the last time she left him.

She had end up at the restaurant bar, avoiding looks from men and possible advances, in favour of just disconnecting, in a moment of uncomplicated drinking and half-reading of her phrasebook.

Luckily she had been mostly undisturbed. She figures she must have just given off _that_ vibe...

She swallows thickly, now, looking about her calming surroundings.

Suddenly the room starts to spin, - and indicator of having had a little too much - and all at once it evokes a memory of her stood outside another hotel room. She closes her eyes, focusing on the images.

She thinks upon Mark Meadows in that moment. How he had been so caring and so considerate when they had been together. How he had left so abruptly and pulled on her heart in the process. _All because he couldn't stand being second best._

But how, five years later, he was no better than the rest. And suddenly wanted her to play the second. Like a punishment, and a desperate whim all rolled into one.

He had loved her. Probably still did. And she had loved him. But he never fought for her.

She'll admit, she doesn't know how he could have, back then.

 _And she regrets their position, now._

 _Her, longing._

 _Him, longing._

And the fact that she knows she can never go there now, because of what he was willing to do.

He's changed.

But then, _so has Harvey_.

She falls asleep, drunk in the image of them both, a mixture of greys and browns and potent looks in different ways,

 _And lives_

 _In the memory of them,_

 _Back then._

* * *

 _And it's the fun_  
 _We're hanging on_  
 _The living chains_  
 _The living on_  
 _Come away with me_  
 _And I drive you into the wild_

 _We'll take the blame_  
 _For you don't loose a flame_  
 _The sun it turns so blue_  
 _The water's warm_  
 _Your beauty burns_  
 _So I will try and fail_  
 _And do we have a tower_  
 _To see the clouds change_  
 _And I will stare beneath_  
 _The bright orange sky_  
 _And you all control_  
 _The silken light_  
 _And you take what you want to have_  
 _What you keep inside_

' ** _Orange Sk_ _y_** ' By Oscar and the Wolf

* * *

It's the second day that Harvey notices _her_ desk, empty.

Suddenly the wall that separate them speaks more than the glass of before. He's been fidgeting, and he's already on his third coffee before the morning has even leaned into the looming afternoon.

Mike is out, on a case, and he has a boring amount of paperwork to do. After a while, his mind is beginning to wander.

Her words float into his head, as his hand twitches, and he examines the scrawl of his signature in front of him. He drops his pen onto the paper.

 _It's almost chicken-scratch_ … he thinks. He's inclined to think that she'd agree at this point.

He looks to the wall, in the direction of her office, his face sobering, before his hand rubs over it, catching at the tiredness around his eyes.

 _He still hasn't found that file, either._

He hears a knock on glass, and his eyes shoot a little too quickly to the doorway, the fleeting breeze of hope flying through his gut.

He straightens at the sight of Louis, who wanders into his office with a seriousness.

"Harvey, do you have a minute?"

"Sure, Louis." He says, straightening his back.

"I just wanted to inform you, that Donna's decided to extend her vacation."

"What?" He frowns.

"She's barely taken a day off since she came here." He defends. "I looked into her holiday pay records and legally, she's entitled to more time. So I'm just letting you know, she'll be back after the weekend. Maybe Tuesday?"

"Right." He feels his face tighten, as his Partner makes his way to the door.

"Hey, Louis. Seeing as Donna is informing _you_ and _not me_...can you get her tell me where the damn Weistmann file is?" He says curtly. "It's one thing her taking an impromptu vacation, but she's preventing me from being able to close the file." He says, irritably.

Louis gives him a strange look. He realises then that he's still not asked Louis exactly what's bothering him. _And with his own tone...He's being an ass._

"Harvey," Louis says plainly. "Donna contacted Rachel, not me. I'm just...letting you know." He says, the man's eyes planting the point.

"I'm sorry. I'm...Are you okay, by the way? You've been a distracted a lot, lately."

"I'm...fine, Harvey." He says, slightly taken a back. "Just...a personal matter."

He nods then, watching Louis round the corner.

 _ **Personal.**_

 _ **He knows that all too well.**_

* * *

 _I won't hold my finger in the air_

 _And tell you which way the wind blows_  
 _For I have tried so many times_  
 _Damn that look in your eyes!_

 _Hold me down hold_

 _Hold me down hold_

 _Damn it, but don't you know that I will be there?_  
 _That I will be there?_

 _I walk the streets,_  
 _Moonlight hanging above me_  
 _Haunting its way through these dreams_  
 _You've told me so many times,_  
 _That this is the place we loose our minds_

' **Hold me down** ' By Mansionair

* * *

Getting up on her second day was easier. More natural. There had been no flight in her, or panic to get to a destination. There was no exhaustion to get over, and for the most part, she'd had a decent night's sleep, despite the amount of _vin rouge_ she'd consumed. She never could sleep well in anywhere but her own bed, so to get even the night of soundless sleep was a record in her book.

After doing some morning Yoga - she'd managed to procure a mat, pulling herself into some of her usual routine - and indulging in a pre-booked massage - a moment of pure luxury, hot stones and an expert hand, followed by a light breakfast of fruit and coffee - she'd decided to take to the streets once more.

After yesterday's wander into the city, only to be confronted _again_ with her own state of mind, she decided today, to just...exist, between places. To sit, and people watch. Absorb herself in the lives of others, as a way of exorcising herself, and get a feeling for Montreal and it's strange Canadian tinged French-ness.

She had ended up at 'Le Pois Penche', with it's adequate outdoor seating, and strange name that she couldn't seem to find the translation for - over anything other than a 'pea' - and was too afraid to ask a local. She had ordered a glass of Pinot Noir, with its ripe cherry flavours and light claret colour, a perfect lunch time treat.

"You look like a woman, **_in love_**."

She blinks, a line etching between her brows as she peers up to the voice in question. A waiter, with careful hazel eyes and a mop of brown curly hair. He looks artistic, but with chiselled cheekbones and a lithe-ness about him. A mere contradiction, if she didn't know any better.

 _He is too attractive to be saying these words to her._

She'd say he was too bold, too, but if there's one thing she's learnt in nearly two days, it's that _the French_ , cut straight through any greys...

"Maybe I'm just…" She's out of excuses, her expression softening as she chuckles. "How did you guess?" She asks, impressed.

"Because _real love_ is a painful endeavour." He explains. "And it's written all over you."

Her smile slips a fraction, as she regards his words. She wonders how no one else can see it. _Her friends. Her co-workers._ **_Maybe they just ignore it. Maybe every single one of them avoids it..._**

"Why do I get the feeling that you're _also_ in love?" She guesses, her spider sense tingling then, when she makes the effort.

" _I am_." He confirms. "But _I've_ made peace with _**my** love_." He explains, smiling warmly.

"I'm sorry, do you talk to _all_ customers like this?" She says then, a witty sharpness about her, as she deliberately looks about the other tables with a pointedness.

"Forgive me." He says, his hand touching his heart in earnest. "I saw you there...and...I remember being in that position, myself." He explains.

Her face twitches, as her fingers twist against the glasses stem.

She likes this guy. Even as they are talking about something to segregating as love. "It's worse when you're fighting _yourself_ over the fact." She admits.

" _If they love you, they will come for you_." He says staunchly.

She hums, her lips twitching in thought. "I don't think you've met a man like him, before," She assures him, her shoulders slumping.

 ** _Harvey Specter has always been one of a kind, for all the good and the bad and the grey..._**

"You'd be surprised...maybe _ **I**_ am that man." He offers, with a handsome smirk.

" _ **Okay**_." She indulges, her voice peeling with colour. "So...you're ' _the guy_ '. Why would keep me, so close, for _so long_. Only to date someone else when I _finally_ need you. And tell me that you 'love me' when you nearly lose me...only to watch me continually walk away without a word?"

"Simple. _**I am afraid**_." The man states.

"Of what?"

" _Of you being everything to me_."

She's stumped. _Even this beautiful stranger gets it._ "Yeah...that's Harvey, alright." She smiles tiredly. "If only you _were_ him." She quips, sighing.

"You can love him and still move on, you know?" He tells her. "As Moliere once said, ' _ **Vivre sans**_ _ **aimer**_ _ **n'est pas**_ _ **proprement**_ _ **vivre**_ _'"_ He says, his french accent ripening _. "'To live without loving, is to not really live_ _.'_ And you...are halfway there already. You just need to live _."_

"What if I can't...move on?" She asks, a rare honesty in her voice.

"See it this way. Men like _us_...always need a reason to catch up."

She smiles then. She's not sure if it's the similarity, or the connection. Or the fact that an almost stranger has walked up to her and told her everything that is wrong with her life, and everything going on with Harvey, but she really is mildly attracted to this man.

 _Maybe she's just attracted to men like Harvey._

 _It's a tiring notion. Like being on a ferris wheel and missing your chance to get off._

"I've been trying to. _Move on_." She counters.

" _ **Try harder**_." The man says, a familiar twinkle in his eye, as he walks away to service another table that's waiting.

There is no 'Goodbye'.

But then, there was no 'hello'. She sees it a fitting encounter.

She sits there for a moment longer, sipping at last of her wine.

Thinking over the idea, as the ache in her chest softens ever so slightly.

 _Maybe there is resolution for her, that doesn't hinge on 'his' actions._

She just needs to live, now.

* * *

Midtown, New York City.

He's not sure why he's here. He didn't even have Ray wait for him. Instead, giving his driver the afternoon and evening off. He fishes his phone out of his pocket. He has a... _feeling_. A strong feeling that there's something very wrong. It's been two days. And her phone is still off.

 ** _To him, at least..._**

 ** _He doesn't like it._**

She's always told him where she was going, before. And admittedly, they are not the same kind of duo that they've always been. He's dealt with it, quietly, without objection because she deserved the promotion. Because he's dating Paula now, and she was happy for him, and that change extrudes certain things out of the equation. But the altered state of them, still leaves a sear that he's not quite ready to work on just yet.

 _ **'Hi, this is Donna. Leave a message'**_ **,** rings in his ear for a sixth time in the last thirty six hours. He curses into the receiver, stuffing his cell back into his pocket.

He looks up at her windows. _No lights. No movement whatsoever._ And it seems a little early for her to be in bed, he regards, as he looks to the muddy clouded dusk that hits behind the strong lines of cityscape.

 _Maybe she's left town,_ he thinks, _But she would have said, right? She would have told him? Like he's always told her, before._ He knows her family, like she knows his. It seems only natural for her to give him a quick text should a true emergency arise.

 _And he would have been there for her in flash._

He worries that something has happened. With her Mother - _he strikes her father out of that. That guy's been behind the eight ball for far too long_ \- or someone else in her family. Maybe someone he hasn't met before. It's unusual that she would just disappear for two days without a word. And her phone's been off almost the entire time. His five phone calls yesterday, had been so equally spaced out during the day, and every one of them transferred to voicemail, telling him that she wasn't even screening his calls. Her phone was firmly off. And for no reason that she was saying.

It occurs to him, finally, that he is no longer her first port of call. His jaw tightens, his right hand clenching for a moment.

He sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping as his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, gathering his annoyance, ready to throw it down the phone at her, remind her of their agreement, the one they'd made so long ago. The reason why they were each other's next-of-kin.

He blinks, the feelings lost.

 ** _It's Paula._**

He sighs, sharper than usual, pressing the 'accept call' button.

"Hello you." He hears her distinct drawl on the other end of the receiver.

"Hey….Paula," He says, his voice softening.

" _What are you up to tonight_?" He hears her ask, a brightness in her voice.

"I…" He sighs, a tightness suddenly appearing in his chest. _He thinks about fobbing her off. Of telling her that he's still at the office. He's not proud of it._ "Nothing...you around?"

"I can be at yours twenty?" She offers lightly.

"Perfect. _See you then_." He says, listening to her 'Goodbye' as she puts down the phone.

He looks up to Donna's apartment, a frown setting in.

* * *

That night, Donna Paulsen dreams,

Of a man.

It's the first time in her life that's she dreamt of _this particular_ man. For all the times he's occupied her thoughts, he has never once occupied her dreams.

It's odd. But then so are they.

In dream,

She is wearing white. Poignantly so. And it's not because of 'Labour Day'.

And _he_ is there. He doesn't kiss her, but merely stands in front of her. In front of a door.

She gets the feeling that he's _not_ the Groom.

But he won't move. Or go to her. And she can't go around him. And she won't go to him.

She wakes up in a sweat and a fuss, peering into the darkness for a little clarity.

Suddenly she's all out of jokes. Of funny anecdotes.

She blames yesterday's exhibition, for leading her mind there.

And then she remembers,

The young attractive french man's words,

 _About living._

And letting love,

Just... _ **be**_.

* * *

 _Fire burning, tears they're hurting_

 _With all I gave to you_

 _To you_

 _All you get is all you give when your feelings meet the_

 _Your feelings meet the thief_

 _Until you lose yourself until you lose yourself_

 _If I could read it through_

 _I'd take my time my own sweet mind and post it back to you_

 _You are you are you are_

 _His soul his fire his own desire_

 _That's burning through and through_

 _Falling from my high time_

 _Making me feel alright_

 _It's what you do to me_

 _It's what you do to me_

'Thief' by The Beach

* * *

Hope this tides us all over! I'm going to add a little more of Montreal to the mix in the next one.

A _


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Notes**_ : OMG I called Benjamin JONATHAN. (Lol) Hey guys, sorry for the delay on the Update! You've got a little extra here.

Okay, I'd like to go out on a limb and ask for creative licence here as although the writers might finally be writing the ship they are making Harvey look like the dumbest and the scaredest man alive when it comes to Darvey. Hopefully it will all match up in the end but just in case...

Since Spoilers came out for 710, I've been splitting between two lines of plot for this fic. So here goes.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 _She rings like a bell through the night_

 _And wouldn't you love to love her?_

 _She rules her life like a bird in flight_

 _And who will be her lover?_

 _All your life you've never seen a woman taken by the wind_

 _Would you stay if she promised to you heaven?_

 _Will you ever win?_

 _Will you ever win?_

'Rhiannon' Covered by LEON.

* * *

Donna's started reading more. It fits in with her need to live on the periphery of the world.

 _Just for a little while._

In past years, she had continued to live her life. _Date. Have hobbies. Go to the Theatre._ To do all the things that made her who she was, and who she _still is_. And yet, in the wake of Harvey moving on, she feels as if she knows nothing, now. _Of herself. Of Harvey._ Of what she really wants, beyond the wanting of _him_.

She's trying to connect the dots, now, to either move through him, or around him.

But he's not a door, nor a window. He is a concrete point in her life, and a fixed problem all the same.

In one single day, after a timely walk and several tasters later, she's managed to find a coffee shop that she likes, _The Cafe San Simeon_ , on the Rue Dante. It's not like a lot of the 'hipster' coffee shops that she's seen spring up in recent years, the ones that make her feel unnecessarily old, with their assembly of young twenty somethings, all dressed in muted shades, and preaching about veganism with perfunctory attitudes. This one isn't trendy or overly stylish, no bold fonts or 'mix and match' vintage looks. What is does have is great customer service and enough seating that she can stare out of the large glass-front windows and examine the world. It's exactly what she needs. She places her book down - _The Life of Pi_ , by noted Spanish-Canadian Author Yann Martell - and takes a sip of her coffee. She's decided, that today will be about doing things she's never done, that she should have done already.

 _Big things, small things, and the ones in between._

One thing, to tick off of the list, was reading his book.

She's a fast reader, and is sure that she can plough through it's three hundred or so pages by the time she plants her feet back on U.S. soil.

She thinks over the notion. _Of going back to work. Of going home._ Of taking a moment before she submerges her life back into that of a man who has unknowingly claimed it already.

 _What will she do differently?_

 _Will she manage to change anything?_

First and foremost, she has decided to get him an Assistant. She doesn't want the burden of juggling his secretarial work any longer. It's not her job role, and he needs to learn that he can't just palm things onto her anymore. No matter how capable she is, and how used to it he's become.

But further than that? She has a day or two left, until the city has her, once more. She needs to figure out a few more things until then.

For now, she'll submerge herself, in the ripe fictional memories of another person,

Who is also seemingly reeling from trauma,

And lost at sea.

* * *

Rachel Zane is thoroughly worried about her friend.

She'd never considered just how unlucky in love, Donna actually _was_. _Is._

Nor how seemingly in love with Harvey, she actually appears to be.

Since finding out about Paula, she's seen her friend pale in comparison to her usual greatness. For the strongest of women, Harvey appeared to be her only real weakness. And it didn't make sense to her. Donna wasn't some wall flower, or an unaccomplished woman. She was sought after, and vibrant and beautiful. She constantly heard comments about Donna Paulsen, _the hottest woman at Pearson Specter Litt._ She'd even caught the young 'red blooded' male Associates making rather suggestive comments about her. On occasion she had had to reprimand them.

And yet here she was, taken by a man that most people thought of as a fabulous Lawyer, and competent leader, but a veritable asshole, and over-aged Bachelor.

She thinks on Harvey.

When he came to her and Mike's apartment, with criminal charges and the threat of jail looming over the beautiful redhead, he had seen Harvey peak with an alertness, with a sharp panic, at Donna being _so_ in danger. Mike had spoken of his outburst, of her being 'different', and his feelings showing even back then. And even she thought that _that_ had meant something. But they just...broke, after that. And worse than that, a year later and no change, just the gradual floating back together and a firm denial of the past. At the time she herself had been so overtaken with Mike going to jail that she had never thought to question where the land truly lay between the two of them.

 _And then Paula Agard had happened._

And Mark Meadows.

And once again her best friend was thrown, emotionally, right to the wolves.

 _No wonder she had to get away._ _To where,_ is now the only real question in Rachel's mind.

She knows one thing,

 **Her wonderful Donna deserves more.**

"Hey...Rachel."

She blinks, her eyes flicking up to witness her Boss at her office door. She's suddenly thankful that her skin doesn't betray an obvious blush, as such. It's almost as if he can see the wheels turning in her head as she stares up at him. He looks back at her with a strangeness. She can tell when he comes to her with things that have nothing to do with her. _Or work_. She stalls, trying to stop the deduction from coming into in her own words.

"Harvey. I actually need to talk to you.. _.about that_ -" She starts.

"Rachel... ** _where's Donna_**?" He interrupts softly. She blinks, looking back at him, her eyes betraying an alertness. "She's not answering the buzzer at her apartment. _Or_ my calls. And it's been...nearly _four_ days. What's going on?" He asks, his voice low in his chest.

"She's taking an...'extended' vacation." She says plainly, feeling her anxiety coming out in fidgeting fingers, as they play with the papers on her desk. "Did Louis not tell you?" She asks, blankly.

"Rachel, _Donna's never needed to take a vacation once in fifteen years_. _Otherwise she would have_." He counters. "What's really going on?"

She clears her throat.

 _He's not going to drop this. She can see it in his eyes. That potent and direct stare of his._

"She's not _answering_...because she's not... _at_ home." She says carefully.

"Then _where is she_?" He asks.

"Harvey... I can't tell you." She says, giving him a conflicted expression as she purses her lips together.

"Why not?" He fires at her then, growing agitation in his words.

"Because I don't know exactly, _**where**_ she is." She clarifies then. Her heart softens slightly, when he gives her a slightly wounded expression.

 _Could it be? Harvey Specter, affected by the only woman that seems to get under his skin?_

 _Could it be possible, that they were **both** deeply in love with one another, and yet adamantly against the notion that either loved the other in return?_

 _She never considered that this entire 'complication' between them could be chalked up to a tragic but very simple misunderstanding of the heart._

"But you know she's...not _there_?" He guesses, before his frown falls deeper into a frustration. "Rachel... _please...just_ tell me what's going on. Why is Donna not here? And why didn't she tell me?" He asks, directing each question with a held impatience.

He was respecting her, at least.

"Look...Harvey, it's really not _for me_ to say, I uh-" She stumbles on the words, feeling cornered, despite his softer approach.

"Rach," He interrupts, his voice soft, but no less direct. " _ **You know,**_ don't you?"

"Harvey…" She says then, her tone changing. "She's my _Best_ friend, and you're my _Boss_. I'm there for her, but I don't...want to get in the middle of... _anything_."

 _She's right._

She can see it in his face, that _he knows_ she's right. She's always in the middle of things. Whether it be with Mike, Donna, or even Harvey himself. She is a silent conduit between the three of them. And when it comes to Harvey and Donna, it's like being in the middle of a quagmire.

"I'm sorry." He says, retreating from his earlier tactics. "You're right." He says, his head swishing with the truth, before he takes a moment. "Is she... _ **okay**_?"

She wonders if she should be honest. Tell him the truth, perhaps.

She can already feel herself slipping further into this brewing storm.

"Honestly…?" She offers, her expression guarded.

He nods, wincing, his chin lowering at the possible blow she's about to deliver him.

"No. **_I_**...don't think she is." She says, a little plainer than she'd meant.

He recoils for a moment, before breaking out of it just as quickly. "Is it...to do with... _me_?" He asks.

She's taken aback at his openness with her. _A lowly third year Associate. And her suddenly sunken Superior._

 _She wonders if maybe...they've become friends over the years._

"I...really can't say, Harvey. I'm sorry." She says, looking at him with an apology written all over her face. "You'll have to ask her." She insists.

He swallows, the whisper of a nod as he frowns into thought, before back looking at her carefully.

" _Can_ you _tell me_...if you find out where she is? _Please_?" He asks her.

"I...will." She decides, before feeling the ripe slip of betrayal. "But you didn't hear it from me…" She warns, her sternness falling into an immediate softness that is _so_ Rachel.

"Of course." He complies. "Thanks, Rach." He pauses, remembering her earlier words. "What...did you need?"

"Don't worry, I'll... _figure it out_." She says, half-smiling as she just about convinces him.

She watches Harvey walk away. He looks like he has the literal world on his board shoulders.

 _She figures that the man is about to have **even more** on his plate._

 _She thinks on her friend. The fiery Redhead that her Boss seems so torn up about._

* * *

Mike's noticed. _Harvey is_...back to being tense. And Donna's not here. Mike's not blind. If anything, when it comes to these two, he is at his most perceptive. To him, it's like looking at he and Rachel, at their worst possible outcome.

 _They_ had been lucky.

 _Harvey and Donna_...had **not** been.

When he walks into Harvey's office, he is stood up, looking out to the view, his thumb heavily pressing his call, ending a call with a look of utter frustration on his face.

"So...Donna's still screening your calls, huh?" He offers, his words leaning but careful enough.

Harvey looks to him, a sharp setting to his shoulders as they widen defensively.

"She's _not_ screening my calls. Her phone is off…" He replies, his voice glum.

"Okay…" Mike replies, unconvinced.

For a moment, they stare at one another. For once, Mike is un-interested in covering the situation for his friend. _He's made his own bed now..._

 _And for once, Mike doesn't agree._

"Mike, If you have something to say, then just _say_ it."

"Fine. You wanna me to say it?" He offers, noticing the look that his partner gives him. "I don't understand, why are you're dating a woman that you've known for only a year...after _everything_ that's happened with Donna."

"What's it to you?" Harvey jibes, his eyes narrowing.

"Oh, I don't know. Only that _I date her best friend_ , and she's also _my_ friend, and she's been almost heartbroken ever since you told her about the two of you."

"Mike, you don't know what the hell you're talking about." Harvey counters, turning his back on his friend.

"No, Harvey. It's _you_ who has no idea." He says, nearing his friend. "I don't get you...it's like when it comes to her you have this enormous blind spot, for the truth."

"And what's this truth that I'm so blind to, huh?" He fires back, his face scrunching with a held aggression.

"The truth? Well, it depends which one you want, Harvey. Either, _you're in love with her_. And you keep her at arm's length because you're terrified of ruining it. Or you've selfishly kept her by your side, for years...unable to move on because you're terrified of _losing her_ , because, again, _you're in love with her_. Either way you're in love with Donna. And yet you're going to bed with a woman that you used to...pay for advice."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Does she not even notice? The way you are? _With Donna_?" He fires then, gaining momentum.

"Actually…. _she does_." He says then.

Mike watches the fire in his friend lessening somewhat at the admission, as he wanders over to his own couch, slumping down upon it, his fingers running through his hands.

"And even after all that….you can't just... _be brave_? And...tell Donna?"

He watches his friend as his eyes flick up to meet his, his face suddenly unreadable.

"Maybe I'm just…. _not_ in love with her?" He offers.

It's not what he expects to come out of his mouth. It seems like more denial. He wonders how deep this goes, exactly.

"You know..." He starts, not giving up. "I've been thinking on _that_. Now, what you say...it'd be true... ** _except for one thing_** …"

"And what's that?" Harvey asks, indulging him, albeit reluctantly.

"I saw you, Harvey. I saw you, nearly _break,_ over me putting Donna in jeopardy, with Liberty Rail. I stood, right here, as you sat over there, and pointed out to me, that **_she_** , is 'different'." He tells him. "And I know _we?_ Are _good friends_. But you and her...are _more_ than that. And you're hurting her by leaving her hanging like this."

He's hit a nerve, as he watches the man, deathly silent.

 _To an outsider, Harvey Spector looks like a man who's just dropped a beer glass. The aftermath, of not being able to put it all back together, seems scattered around his slightly hunched form._

" **What do you expect me to do, Mike**?" He says, asking his friend. He huffs, the truth finally pulling at his handsome features; seemingly too heavy to shake off now. "I asked her what she meant when she said she wanted 'more'. And she said 'she didn't know'." He sighs, limply defending his position.

"That's because she's terrified that you don't love her the way she _needs_ you to." He adds, his voice suddenly reaching a tenderness, propped up by support for his friend.

"Rachel tell you that?" Harvey throws at him, weekly, his face suddenly tired, then.

"No. I just _know_ her, Harvey. _And after fifteen years, you should know her too_."

He feels the young man near the couch, his lean, younger form towering over him.

" _Just tell her_." He encourages.

When Harvey finally looks up, Mike is already at the door, leaving him to his own devices.

He stands, making his way back to his reflection at the window. The quiet city lights his only comfort.

* * *

 _I want to go places that I've never been_

 _Rome, California, Paris, Berlin_

 _I want to see things I've never seen_

 _Quietly happy and live by the sea_

 _They say don't go out_

 _Don't get lost in the dark_

 _Don't go in too deep_

 _Don't swim out too far_

 _They say don't go out_

 _Don't go out too fast_

 _Cos I feel it all and I need to live a little at last_

 _Make my own mistakes  
Follow, Listen, Really hard  
I am not afraid  
I will let down my guard_

 _ **Cos I feel it all and I need to live a little at last**_

' _Live' By Billie Marten_

* * *

On Friday morning, Donna Paulsen wakes up with a strange feeling in her gut.

The sun's not quite out today, and it makes her feels out of sorts. She wonders if she's getting her period, as a gloominess draws inside her to match the dull, greying skies.

 _She's only been away for four days._ Maybe it's the reminder of this being her last official day, before she needs to think about checking out and finally going home.

Of course, she could _sta_ y here. _Check in somewhere else._

But Life is waiting. And she has been running, in some ways.

Maybe it's just that, the reminder that her life, in whatever screwed up mess it appears to be in, is still waiting for her there, in a city she loves dearly.

Montreal isn't bad. It's lovely, actually. But she misses her people. Rachel. Mike. Louis. Gretchen. She has cemented in them, a family. And of course, Harvey.

She's realised that she may lose him, now. It's inevitable, really. He was always going to move on eventually. And so, it was time, for her to move on as well.

 _But how do you move on from someone who is so rigidly in your life? One you can't really extract, without losing other dear things in the process..._

She resolves, that the only way to really do it,

Is to take small steps away. And to remind herself. _Every morning._

She examines herself in the mirror then, ignoring lines and tiredness. The way her hair seems lighter, and less vibrant.

She thinks on one notion: _**Harvey Specter...is not in love with you**_ _._ She tells the mirror just that, and with that, herself. _**He doesn't love you enough to fight**_ _ **for you. And that's a dealbreaker. You know that. It also speaks of more than the answers that he can give you. It's not enough anymore...**_

And somehow that, in and of itself IS enough. Because it has to be enough, now.

Trouble is, _it hurts_.

So, she gives herself the day. One day of letting it all finally sink in.

He likes little women, with their childlike eyes and heart shaped faces. That do not work for him. They do not dress like her, and they do not act like her. They encourage different reactions in him. And now he has found someone, that has _her_ old sense of council, but Scottie's sense of fragile purpose.

 _She, Donna,_ has only ever been _an aid_.

And so, she won't stand by the sidelines anymore.

She feels her heart break. It is a silent fracture. A necessary part of her process.

She doesn't go downstairs to the Hotel Restaurant for breakfast. She finds the nearest minimart, and buys a tub of coffee flavoured ice cream, ignoring the strange look from the cashier. She sits on her lavish hotel bed with a spoon she's borrowed, and revels in its rich and luxurious flavour.

Gradually, with every dairy-laden mouthful, it eases her soul, a fraction at a time.

She decides then, that she'll book a **_real_** vacation, soon. With the proper work procedures, and the proper notice. She'll choose somewhere different from anywhere that she's ever been before.

 _Somewhere with sun and sand and the sea._

* * *

 _Torn down, full of aching_  
 _Somehow our youth would take the blame_  
 _Worn out, the way we let it stay_

 _Taught how to celebrate it_  
 _All out, I'd replicate your pain_  
 _Climb down, if only for a taste_

 _Hallowed, but hesitated_  
 _Shallow, but full in all your veins_  
 _Shadowed by every other weight_

 _Hollow, a doubt can make it_  
 _Borrowed a love that never came_  
 _Followed in every other shade_

 _Let it lead your love away_  
 _I never strayed_  
 _Let it bury you away_  
 _In all your blame, in all your pain_  
 _I will carry you always_

 _Let it lead your love away_  
 _I never strayed_  
 _Let it bury you away_

 _Fade me away, I won't ever be the same_  
 _Fade me away, I won't ever be the same_

 _' **Carry You** ' By Novo Amor_

* * *

Harvey has thought on his rather tense conversation with Mike, for well over a day, and most of the night.

 _He cancelled Paula that night._ Promising that he'd make it up to her soon, but not suggesting how.

He has decided...he wants to find her. _Donn_ a.

He wants to find her, and ask her what's going on, to make her leave him so abruptly, and without his council.

Something is stopping him. Almost.

 _It's not Paula. _

_And it's not timing. _

_He wonders if it's fear, but not the usual kind…_

 ** _He wonders if Mike Ross is right, and has been all this time._**

 _He hates the idea, the racking possibility._

But, despite his reservations, he has a hunch that he can solve this in exactly _ **one**_ day. An 'in and out'. _Easy. Simple. Low risk._

He directs himself to the only one that can help, at this point.

If no one knows where Donna is,

 _Then he'll go to the one person who may be able to find out…_

He lands on the office in question, a mixture of blaring blue and red lights, glass walls that make it look like a futuristic control room. And a slight man, with a strange expression on his face, as he stares up at his veritable Boss.

"Benjamin, right?" He checks, pointing to the man.

"Yes...Mr Specter...did you take a wrong tur-…?" He starts, before backtracking the words.

Harvey smirks, piecing together the end of his sentence. "No. I'm looking for _you_. I need a...favour, o _f sorts_. And I think you're 'the guy'..."

He watches Benjamin straighten immediately, a stranger expression etching his features, that borders on alertness, an almost rabbit in headlights. "The uh..'guy'? What is it that you... _need,_ exactly?" He asks him.

"How good are you...at ' _tracking'_ people?" Harvey asks carefully.

"Well...I don't work for the C.I.A…"

"But if you did?" He asks, indulging the strange young man.

" _Technologically speaking_?" Benjamin supposes. "I could find a headline on a newspaper. _From space_...but" He says, before his face seems to jam into a frown. "Wait... _is this Official Business... **for the firm**_?" He asks reluctantly.

"No. This is...for me. This is… _for Donna_." He lies.

In truth it's probably just for him. He has no idea what he's walking into. _Only that he needs to make the journey. In and out. Simple..._

"Oh." The technician says, straightening then.

"Yeah. Can you... _do that_?"

"Depends on who it is, exactly. I can't follow the President of Paraguay. For starters the cell service there is _really_ not up to our standards, they're about ten or so years behin-"

"Benjamin." Harvey interrupts, reining the man back in.

"Sorry. Continue." He says, his mouth snapping shut.

"I need you tell me _where_...Donna is?" He asks then, levelling his gaze at the man.

"Couldn't you just... _call her_?" He offers, matter of factly. "I would...call." He says, an aside.

Harvey swallows the response bubbling up in his gut. _Donna... **somehow**...understands this guy_. Admittedly she understands everyone, but it's enough to tell him that the guy is decent at least. _If not, a complete Nut-job, and nervous beyond measure..._

"Do you not think that I would have tried that _first_? Before coming to you?" Harvey offers, an edge still hanging in his voice.

"That's a... _good point_. I. Does she _know_ that you're... _looking for her_?"

"Look, y _ou gonna help me out or not?"_ He fires at the man, then, irritability ripping in his voice.

"I….is my decision... _directly_ related to my position here? _This position?_ _This_ desk? _My_...desk." He queries, frowning at the imposing man.

"I'd rather not bribe you, Benjamin. I was... _hoping_ , that because you and Donna shared a 'joined vision', that you would help me out on this." He explains.

"We don't share a vision, _so much as_ ," Benjamin babbles.

"Benjamin." Harvey interrupts, looking sharply at the man.

"This is a favour for _you_. _Not_...for her. You realise that?" He clarifies then, pointing boldly at the man, before he realises his own gesture, tucking the finger under the desk.

" _ **Do you realise**_ **that** _**I could fire you?**_" Harvey offers then, losing his patience.

"Not...ethically," Benjamin offers lightly, watching the man in front of him finally sharpening to that of his wide-regarded reputation.

"I'm sure I could find a loophole," He warns, his voice sarcastic as his features sharpen.

" ** _I'm checking her cell signal now_**." The younger man replies quickly, his voice flying and his fingers tapping away on the keys in front of him.

Harvey clears his throat then, his shoulders relaxing as he watches the strange young man type away like a little beaver on his pristine looking keyboard. He actually frowns at one point, bemused as to the complete lack of so much as a coffee stain on this strange man's desk.

He watches Benjamin frown for a moment, before he leans towards the large monitors.

"Okay...her Cell appears to be _off_ ," He says, his face heavy with concentration, but light in narration.

Harvey sighs heavily at the man's rather obvious deduction.

 _He's starting to regret coming here..._

"But…" Benjamin continues, igniting his interest somewhat. "It's been pinpointed at a number of locations over the last few days in….oh. **In Canada**." He says, seeming to warm into the task at hand as his hands continue to tap away.

"Canada? _**What the hell is she doing in Canada**_?" He blurts out, giving the man a look.

"Montreal, to be exact."

"Okay," Harvey frowns. "This is going to sound weird, but I'll say it anyway, because I...have a hunch." He says, sarcasm sharpening once more, before his face grows serious. "Can you check to see if she's _checked in_ anywhere in Montreal? Hotels. Motels...somewhere...nice? Possibly near a theatre?" He says, before a thought occurs, and he picks out his wallet from his back pocket, opening it and flipping a gold card onto the man's desk. "She may or may not have used a duplicate of this one," He offers.

"Uh...okay...well that...will take some..time? I might need...lunch? To...keep me going." Benjamin says, leaning back for a moment to plant the bold suggestion.

Harvey groans, eyeing the man. "I'll get Mike to drop off your favourite." He says, before walking to the door.

"Can you ask him to ix-nay on the extra cheese his time? I'm trying to watch my figure." He calls after him.

"Thanks Benjamin." He says over his shoulder, ignoring the request.

* * *

He has Gretchen reschedule all his meetings for Monday morning, his only focus being getting to his apartment. When he checks, it is four o'clock. He has just over an hour before he needs to leave for his flight. Assuming the traffic is with him. It's an hour and a half direct flight from JFK to Montreal, meaning he'll be there by 8pm, at the very least. He figures, time is of the essence. Otherwise this problem will leech into the next work week and then he really will lose his mind. When he opens the door to his Condo, his mind checking off the essentials, a voice catches his attention.

"Hey you." A distinct 'female' voice rings out from his Lounge.

"Paula." He blinks, watching his girlfriend saunter towards him. " _Hey_ … what are you doing here?" He asks her, a red flag shooting up in his mind.

"You give me a key, and then ask why I'm here?" She frowns, stepping towards him, a contradiction in her eyes.

"I didn't...mean that. _I'm sorry_." He says, half-smiling and his shoulders slumping.

"You weren't expecting me." She deduces, her tone falling flatter, as she understands then.

"I'm just...I have a problem to fix, and I need to get on a plane in an hour." He says, his arms flapping at the explanation.

 _It's the truth,_ he thinks _, regardless of omissions._

"Oh. Where are you going? Somewhere nice, I hope?" She asks.

"...Canada? Montreal..." He says to her, his face deliberately careful.

"I didn't realise you had any business in Canada?" She regards.

"I don't...I have to...rope in a _client_." He shrugs.

He wonders if she can see that he's lying... _or maybe she doesn't want to see it_? He hasn't the time to think properly on that...

"Oh." She says, her voice hollow. "Maybe I could...come with you? I'm done for today, and it's the weekend. I've never been to Canada before. _Or Montreal_. I've heard it's rather... _french_." She adds, smirking.

"Paula, I...any other time that would be _great_ , really, I just...I would prefer it if _I_ just jumped in, and jumped out. _On this._ I need to focus. It's a BIG client." He says, swallowing. "They're... _complicated_."

"Oh, Okay then." She says. He can't ignore the look of disappointment on her face. She covers it well, her hand sliding up to his arm. "Well, I'll see you when you get back?" She promises, looking for a confirmation.

"Sure." He half smiles, as she leans against him then, his lips lowering a way to press them slowly against hers. "Feel free to...hang out, here." He offers. _She has a key after all..._

"If you let me know when you're coming back, maybe I'll be here to greet you?" She offers lightly, her hands sliding around his back for a moment.

"That sounds perfect." He smiles warmly, kissing her once more, before watching as she slides out of his arms.

He hears the door close behind him.

 _ **He's never packed an overnight bag so quick in his entire life.**_

 _ **He knows before he's even left,**_

 _ **That he is fucked up,**_

 _ **And has fucked up,**_

 _ **On all accounts.**_

* * *

Mike Ross kicks the edge of his own apartment door closed. Today...has been a trivial nightmare of a day. He's thankful that he's home earlier than scheduled. Harvey's been less than easy to be around. And his own case is falling flat under a new piece of evidence, and now he needs to discuss something with his Fiancee that he has no business being involved in, but has somehow helped cause.

 _Harvey's not wrong, when he calls him a 'Nosy little shit…'_

 _He just can't keep his own mouth shut..._

"Hey you." Rachel looks up, nursing a larger than usual glass of wine. "You're early." She notes.

"Yeah. Well...Harvey's... _gone_. You'll never guess where?" He says, toeing off his shoes.

"Where?" She asks, watching him round the couch.

"Well..first off, he bribed Jonathan to locate Donna's whereabouts." He offers, undoing his tie.

"Did he find out where Donna is?" She asks, sitting a little straighter.

"Montreal, Canada," He states, slumping onto the sofa next to her, as she offers him her glass.

"Oh my God." Rachel replies, watching as her other half downs a considerable amount of her Shiraz. "And he's gone _all the way_ there?"

"Yep." Mike says, taking in the information as if it were new.

"I need to...warn her." Rachel says then. He can see the cogs in her turning.

"Maybe we should just….let them work this out?" He offers, giving her back her glass as his hand slides against the back of the sofa.

"Mike, you don't understand." She frowns. "If she went that far, she went away to get away from Harvey, specifically. _Away from the situation. To clear her head._ And now she has no idea that he's…" She takes another gulp of wine, the possible spanner in the works making her mind spin with the various and worrying possibilities.

"I understand, Rach But maybe...Harvey _can_ fix it this time? They need to talk. _Sooner rather than later_."

"Is he still with Paula?" She asks, squaring a look at him

"I don't know. He's been pretty 'mum' about the relationship, actually." He answers honestly.

"Well if he **_is_** , then I know, that she won't want to talk." She points out, frowning as she places her now empty wine glass on the white coffee table, reaching for her phone.

"Are you calling her **now**?" He asks, a reservation in his voice.

"Yep." She says, focusing on the contact list in her phone.

"Oh god." He groans, folding onto the couch beside her.

He watches his other half as she places the receiver to her ear. After a moment he hears Donna's voice erupt out of the receiver in a well executed message. "She's not answering." She says, giving him a worried look.

"Then, just...let it be." He offers, sidling up to her.

"Mike...you don't know what it's like, okay? Donna is...very fragile, right now. I've never seen her look so...lost. I think she's really losing it."

"With Harvey?"

"I just don't understand how he could…"

" _Date his therapist and leave Donna hanging_? Believe me... _I know_. They've been weird, since she came back to his desk. I thought that maybe something had happened, but…"

"It didn't." She confirms. "And then she got back in touch with her ex -boyfriend recently, _the one that made her choose Harvey_? And he propositioned her into having an affair. And he's married. And didn't tell her until after."

"Oh God. And Harvey's dating that English woman, and…"

"This is mess. They're a mess. This is a literal _adult_ mess." She says, her eyes flicking to the bottle on the table.

" _Are they_?" She hears Mike say.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She remarks, a slight irk in her voice that she knows shouldn't be there in the first place, and only speaks of how invested she's become about Harvey and Donna.

"Look. I want Harvey and Donna to work it out as much as you do...really...but don't you think…"

"What?" She frowns, not catching the insinuation.

He turns to her, changing tact as his voice softens. "Don't you think that he would have... _gone there_ , again, if he really wanted to?" He options.

"Maybe he's...scared?" She offers.

"That's what I told him. He just said that...maybe he 'wasn't in love with her'. Maybe, **he really did just take her for granted** , and we're all hoping that that's not the case, because it's really the worst possible outcome?"

"I don't know, Mike. Donna lied to me about the last time. She...said they _never_ did, and then when ' _we'_ broke up _over_ …" She doesn't say his name. It's still a sore point of their blemished relationship history. "She confessed that she had lied, the first time, when I'd asked her if they'd ever gone 'there'. And she said, then, that she had wanted to 'try' with him. At a relationship. But that he wasn't _ready, back then_. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe he is _now_. But maybe he's still scared of it." She offers. "I just...I want her to be happy."

"I think we're both just going to have to accept that maybe...that's not going to happen with them." He counters. "And that, if it does, it's because Harvey wants it enough."

"No matter what. This weekend feels like it'll be _momentous_." She remarks, hugging her sweater covered arms around herself.

"Yeah." He agrees, pulling her into his side.

Her hand snakes around the nape of his neck, as he looks down at her, this beautiful woman that has his heart. "Thankyou." She tells him.

"For what?" He asks.

" _For being brave enough to love me_." She tells him. Her face is covered in love for him. He knows it in his very being.

"I loved you from that first ogle." He reminds her, smirking.

"You ** _were_ **ogling me!" She exclaims, a hunch matching up in her head. "I knew it." She accuses, patting his back.

"I whispered 'I love you'. On that first day." He divulges, his face nearing hers.

"I remember. I thought you were weird…" She plays, her lips twitching.

"Weird like...'sexy', weird?" He asks, his voice hopeful but playful still.

"If that's what helps you sleep at night," She says, indulging him, as his lips finally cover over hers.

* * *

I'll be getting another chapter either before or just after 7.10

A _ x0x0


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's notes:**_

Sorry for the delay, guys! I wrote this before 710 happened (seriously I can't even) and then….I realised it's similar. :-\ I kept re-writing it. It put me in a serious funk. God Damn you writers with that KISS!

* * *

.

 ** _Chapter Four_**

.

* * *

By the afternoon, Donna Paulsen has been sat at the hotel bar, her gaze wandering for at least an hour.

She'll admit it. She's...a little bored. Rather bored now, actually. She's never been used to her own company for more than a weekend. Sure, she's comfortable enough in her own skin to be alone with herself and her thoughts, but she is a sociable creature by nature and right now that contradicts the need in her, to protect herself from her recent heartache. Meeting strangers means jumping into new situations, and pulling over old wounds, and she's not entirely sure that _either_ stance suits her right now...like a fish out of water, she is most definitely _between two cities_.

Despite that, she had put on the best thing she'd brought with her, _a Red Marchesa Notte A line dress with an illusion bodice_ , with it's bright red skirt, and gold and red filigree pieces floating up to give the impression that the design was embroidered directly on her skin. She had felt instantly better, and within an hour she'd already fended off two advances at the Bar. One, from a man with hair plugs and a self-obsessed need to talk about nothing but his _golf clubs_ \- _she had decided there and then, that this guy needed to either get laid or marry the_ _clubs_ \- and a rather attractive man with stubble and a chin dimple, who kept her interested right up until the point where he had uttered the words 'room-share'.

 _Neither were prospects._

 _And neither are the kind of man that she wants to be with._

It had put a dampener on her game, to say the least...

She picks up her drink, sighing heavily into the Dirty Martini - _her 'Canada-trip' drink of choice_ \- her eyes focusing on the little particles of marinade floating away from the two green olives held together by a stick. The drink is sharp, and acrid and perfect against the reawakened feeling of sadness.

She's hit a wall, in her quest to tick things off of the list. Day two of her new gameplan was looking harder than day one, for accomplishments alone. She pulls the stick out of her drink and pops the two olives into her mouth, weighing up her the chances of getting her groove back.

 _She wagers that they are slim, all things considered..._

She thinks on Harvey, then. _Where he is...what he's doing_. She suspects that he's most likely spending his Friday evening with Paula. His Girlfriend, despite all odds. The idea creates a dip in her stomach. **Perfect Paula and her Perceptive Place in his life.** It rises an immediate frustration within her.

 _He shouldn't be with that woman..._

 _He should be…_

She blinks then, alarm reaching her features as she watches his familiar form walk into the Hotel.

 _He shouldn't be in..._

 _Harvey's...not in New York._ She tells herself. _Harvey's...here._ **_'Canada' here._ **_Her hotel, kind of here._

She turns away from the sight of him in one fluid motion, her back ramrod straight and pulls her hair to one side, balancing her dainty frame against the blocked view of a couple - _possibly friends, possibly another of life's witty complications_ \- to her right. She hopes there isn't a possibly betraying flash of red hair peaking out for him to catch onto, as she holds her hair, twisting it in her hand.

 _It's childish._ She knows that. But she's in shock, her heartbeat hammering in her chest and only half deaf to the noises around her as a heat climbs up her cheeks. Her brain is numbing in thought, the idea that he's here in the same place as her, so far away from their home, is no coincidence.

 _She realises then,_

She's not ready. She can't see him right now. _This is not how it was supposed to go..._

She sits there, her muscles tense like a predator in the bushes, a contradictory feeling, considering she's suddenly feeling like the prey.

She remains still, freezing almost, until curiosity gets the better of her, and she very slowly cranes her neck around her human cover to spy on him.

And just like that... ** _he's gone_**.

Just like that. _Poof._

Her eyes widen, feeling slightly out of body at the strangeness of the moment.

 _Was he here at all? Or did she just imagine it?_

Either way, she resolves that the best case scenario is to eat elsewhere tonight. She picks up her cocktail, downing the last of its contents in one go. She makes a face at the acid sear on her tongue, picking up her purse and gliding out of the Hotel with as much pace as her nude Louboutins will allow her.

She calls the Hotel to cancel her dinner reservation whilst in a cab, and picks the most obscure, out of the way restaurant she can find.

Her entire night seems to swim above her surroundings, fermenting like the contents of her refilled glass, in the watery memory of Harvey Reginald Specter.

 **Coming for her.**

* * *

 _Jonathan is good_ , Harvey thinks to himself, as the elevator opens onto the fifth floor.

He searches for the number he's been given - _a little bribery paying off for the information_ \- ignoring the key card of his own that jiggles around in his pocket. He'd only bought a room to make it look as though he were going to stay here, having explained to the rather stubborn Concierge that he was in town for business, overnight. He was hoping that he'd get home before morning at least, but he had dropped off his overnight bag at his room just in case.

He scours the doors, passing several consecutive numbers before reaching the one he's been looking for.

He shakes his head, the '206' staring at him.

 _It figures that she would bring her home with her on this rather strange vacation of hers._

The familiarity of this door is also not lost on him.

He braces himself, knocking on the hardwood.

He takes a moment, waiting for footsteps or a growing sound of any kind. _Nothing_.

He blinks, observing the door. _There's no peep hole, so there's no way that she'll see him coming._

He frowns, knocking again, stronger this time as his knuckles rap on the frame work. He wait again, stretching his back out in a vain attempt to rid the knots and kinks that have formed from being held in one position for far too long.

Still...nothing. No sounds, not even a creak.

He huffs, frustrated then, that he's managed to come _this far,_ to an entirely different country, and still not be able to nail her whereabouts. Admittedly, it's Friday night, and an hour or so until dinner time, but he assumes - _his experience at her being 'fashionably' late for almost every dinner of theirs planting in his mind_ \- that she would still be getting ready by this time.

He takes a moment to think where she could be.

 _The Theatre, maybe._

 _Although the Seven Thirty curtain suggests...Early Dinner?_

 _Maybe she has friends here that he never knew about..._

He sighs heavily, the need for a shower making itself known as he pulls at his collar. He needs a moment to think.

He remembers then, he should probably call Paula, too.

He huffs, frustration setting in as he wanders to his own hotel room.

* * *

 _There's a moment when you're still in the dark_  
 _Small explosions fire out from your heart_  
 _Just feels so unreal_  
 _When the nerves and the doubts disappear_  
 _When your head is clear from all fears_  
 _Just feels so unreal_

 _In search of simple pleasures_  
 _We breath, we bleed and breed_  
 _We know we are animals_  
 _Believe in what we need_

 _Lengths of time we leave to_  
 _Forget things, and move_  
 _They know what their doing_  
 _They've built the maps and everything_

 _They'll take their part_  
 _We'll take our part_  
 _Then when we're angry_  
 _We'll take it all back_

' _ **Epicurists**_ ' By Jack in Water

* * *

 **Three hours later.**

Donna totters out of the elevator, a noticeable difference in her demeanour. _She had gotten drunk tonight, and deliberately so. She had figured that if her entire life was about to go down in flames, then she might as well not remember a shred of it, by morning_.

She realises that there is no point in hiding, now.

Harvey Specter was closing in on her. Her cards were soon to be read.

So, as a buffer, she'd gotten as drunk as she could, before coming back to meet the beast, _as it were_.

She slams her hotel door roughly behind her, toeing off her shoes and wandering to the large bed. She needs to lie down, the slight swim of her alcohol soaked veins causing her head to bend, like she is adrift, alone at sea. She hugs her arms around herself, realising that she's been cold most of the night, now. _In the flurry of almost chaos, she had left the Hotel without a coat, having had the sense of wild flight in her, her primary objective being to get as far away from Harvey as she could without seeming completely insane._

 _It was the reason why she came here in the first place. Why she drove across country. She needed time and space and unfettered reason._

But now he is here, and seemingly in search of her. She's still not ready. **_Maybe she'll never be..._**

Seeing him will be the end of things, _huge things_ in her life. She wonders if it's finally time.

She had expected Monday to be the day, and yet, here he is, four days earlier than she had planned. It evokes an anger in her, then, a palpable frustration, at how he can't just...take the hint.

She was in love with him. _He had missed it._

She had wanted 'more' from him and them. _Again, he had missed it._

She wanted to get away from him. Cut him out for a while.

And of course... _he had missed it._

 _Again, and again and again._

There's a knock at her door. It brings an immediate chill to her insides, a seemingly irrational feeling made rational by earlier events. She's on edge, despite the substantial amount of alcohol running in her veins. She slips off of the bed, feeling a looseness in her furrowed eyebrows as her eyes search for another layer to fend off the coldness within her.

When she opens the door she feels her stomach flip, as her hazel eyes meet darker ones. It's almost worse than she expects it to be. Seeing him, standing in front of her. For the shadow of a second she thinks about shutting the door in his face, until she quashes the impulse, watching as his hands wrap around the door frame as if he's second guessing her.

The chances of her shutting him out are slim, now.

 _This is the kind of man that'll beat a door down, if he's travelled even this far in the first place..._

 _Too bad she can't stop her quick mouth..._

" **Does your girlfriend know you're here**?"

" _Donna_." His head tilts in an instant, holding the minor frustration that her comment seems to ignite in him. "Can I come in?" He says, ignoring the question.

"Do I have a choice in the matter," She reams off, leaving him standing there as she wanders into her room.

"Annual leave. _Really_?" He questions, closing the door behind himself.

"I've barely taken any." She shrugs. "I'm overdue by at least... _four hundred days_. So, sue me." She bests, folding her arms about her still cold form.

He gives her a look, his own frustration seem to birth itself in frown lines and a harder set to his jaw at her benevolent attitude. "It's not _the leave_ , Donna. It's the look Rachel gave me when I asked her where you'd gone." He points out.

"Well.. _.here I am_." She says, flapping her arms. "You found me." She says, her voice drenched in sarcasm. "Case closed." She tells him.

He frowns then, seeming to pick up on something, his tone softening. "Donna. _Talk to me_." He insists.

She feels the bristle of a laugh in her throat, that comes out like a muted stutter. " _Now_ you wanna talk…" She remarks, shaking her head.

"Are you _drunk_?" He asks then, his face growing serious.

"Well….I've been drinking since _about five_...so...probably." She wagers flippantly, walking away from him, before doubling back on herself with a noticeably addled mindset. "No. Scrap that. _Yes_ …I am drunk, Harvey." She decides, pointing boldly at him then.

"I should...come back tomorrow." He says, half to himself, beginning to head to the door.

It must be the abv flowing through her veins, but suddenly she's finding the kind of weight to her words that she's been lacking for days. Maybe it's watching him leave her that causes her to react.

"Why? You afraid I'm going to ' _jump you_ '?" She fires at him, following him with a slight wobble that she can't blame on heels.

"Donna. I just came here to see if you're okay. Rachel insinuated that you weren't, and _I_ ," He pauses, observing her with a streak of concern across his face.

"So...when has it ever been _your job_ to fix _my_ life?" She throws the question at him, her hands sliding to the hips of her A-line skirt, her fingers dancing over the silky smooth material that all at once reminds her of all the effort she had gone to before she'd known he was coming.

 _At least if he's going to break her heart today then she's going to look fabulous for it. Like a runway deer to slaughter..._

"Donna,"

 _There is no such thing as Prince Charming_ , she reminds herself. _There is no Handsome Knight coming for you now..._

"Well, Harvey. Who asked you? Huh. I don't need saving…" She bites at him, defending herself.

"When you screw up, you do." He reminds her, his voice bending with a tenderness.

"One time, Harvey. _One time_ in nearly fifteen years." She counters. "And let's not pretend how many times I've saved _your_ ass." She reminds him heavily.

"Why do you think I keep you around?" He offers, his face bending then.

"I don't know. It must just be my... _expertise, I guess_." She says, her face bending with the painful admittance of such a fact. " ** _Right_**?" She pushes then, pouring the bold insinuation all over him like he's her house, drenched in gasoline and she's holding the match.

"Donna," He says, her name sticking like glue in his throat.

 _She shakes her head. She'll never understand how he can say her name in a thousand different ways, and yet every time he's meaning something entirely different. The sardonic part of her hopes he chokes on her name, for the way it makes her feel._

"Don't 'Donna' me...you came _here_ , to another country to find me, so you don't get decide what I can or cannot say," She fires at him.

"It's _Canada_ , Donna, _not the Bahamas_." He throws at her heavily, giving her a look tired look.

They are in a rut. Running in circles, and it's driving her crazy. It pushes a vibrant hatred for the situation to peel out of her, as she stalks towards him, finally feeling in control for the first time in two days.

"Then...why the **_hell_** are you here?!" She all but shouts at him.

"Because I was worried! Okay?" He shouts back, his shoulders hunching in the process. He huffs, trying to calm himself. "I thought….it was something, that... _I_...had done, and I."

"Yes. Harvey. **IT WAS**." She shoots at him, her eyes flame ridden and not a pinch concerned for his welfare.

"Okay Donna...what exactly did I do?" He humours her, his hand splaying out into the air to match his frustration.

She blinks, before a violent frown sets into her eyebrows. "Are you... _BLIND_?" She accuses wildly.

"Is this about Paula?" He fires at her, his eyes narrowing.

She shakes her head, a bitter-dry laugh falling out of her as an anger builds deep down in her gut. "No…this is _**not**_ about your _girlfriend_ , Harvey." She snaps at him, condescendingly.

"So this is about U _s_?" He guesses then, his eyes growing serious at the thought. "Right?"

"No Harvey...there is no 'Us'. Made...perfectly clear by you running all the way to your ex-therapist, a year after you'd stopped seeing her but the _moment that_ I said I wanted **more**." She says, her body shaking at the words coming out other, as she struggles to stand her ground.

Somehow the sense of flight awakens in her again. _She needs to get away. There's no good here. Nothing can come from her words now..._

" **Why did you say you were happy for me, if you aren't?** " He throws at her, a confused anger in his eyes.

 _That's the trick._ She swallows, the truth hitting her in the quietest of waves. Her shoulders drop.

" _I am. Happy, for you, Harvey_...I'm just…" She sighs, her eyes filling then. "I'm just sad...for _myself_." She manages.

"Donna." He mumbles under his breath, his anger lessening then. She watches him take a step towards her, as she feels the need to take a step back. To hold the distance between them level.

"You shouldn't have come here." She tells him. "I came to Canada to...get away from you…" She says, the irony hitting like nails on glass.

"Why?" He asks her.

"You _know_ why," She says heavily, repeating the words, his words, that still ghost in her head from time to time.

"Donna," His eyes darken, his head tilting as his expression warns against the words she needs to say.

 _ **She can't take this any longer. Time to rip off the bandaid. To let old wounds lie. To end this.**_

She stalks towards him then, her objective clear in her mind.

"Tell me that you're not in love with me, Harvey." She orders. "Tell me...that you...led me on, _accidentally_ , because you wanted me to be your Assistant, and you valued the kind of man that I helped make you."

"Donna," He starts, his mouth open but no words for her.

" _ **Just say it**_ , Harvey.." She pleads.

"I…" He opens and closes his mouth. She notices something catch in his eyes. Something new. But it's too late for them now.

 _She going to end this. Even if it kills her..._

" _Tell me_ you're _not_ in love with me." She repeats, goading him. "Come on."

"Donna...I'm with Paula now, _and I_ ,"

"No," She interrupts. "You need to _**say it**_. We need to, move. _Past this_. No more silences. No more insinuations, I need to you to tell me, _slowly and clearly_ , that you don't feel the same way about me. I need you to **let me go**." She tells him, the pressure building in her. If she wasn't so certain about her actions, now, in this very moment, she suspects she might actually break, right there, in front of him.

"Donna," He resists, his eyes boring into hers.

"SAY IT," She orders, her voice bending with a fragility, watching as his face struggles with her request, a part of him reluctant.

" _ **I**_ …" He begins.

" **Say it**." She demands roughly,

"I'm...not _in love_ with you, Donna."

She takes an immediate step back.

 _ **There it is.** The thing she's needed to hear all day. _

_She wonders if she could sense it coming. If she travelled this far because she could see it coming, like a train in the night..._

She nods, minutely, looking away from his eyes, lost in his words for the longest moment. She watches tears fall onto the carpet, and straightens, swallowing to hold the pressure down.

"Well... ** _I'm_** in love with _**you** , Harvey_." She tells him, her eyes glassy. "And I can't take it anymore, so." She shrugs, looking about herself just to avoid his gaze now. To hold onto the moisture she knows is building.

"Donna, please," He steps forward, his face seemingly unreadable.

 _He's never been able to stand the sight of her crying in front of him._

She feels numb, as she glances at him briefly. "You should go, Harvey." She tells him, her voice hollow. "Go back to New York. _Back to Paula_." She tells him, looking about herself. "I need to...take some time…here," She pauses, noticing his eyes bulge at her words. "I'll be...uh...back on Monday, okay?" She promises him. She doesn't want the lines to be blurred any longer. She won't hold her working for him over his head. This is different from that. She needs it to be, for now at least.

"Donna, _look_ ," He starts, his body signalling a physical need to move towards her in some form.

"Please, Harvey." She says, her hands gesturing against that need. "Just go." She commands, pointing to the door. "I need to be alone."

He gives her the kind of look that has an aggressive slant broaching the raw look of hurt in his eyes. _Like he's about to lash out verbally at her._

 _He doesn't._

His eyes flash, and then he just... _turns and walks out the door._

She follows, watching him turn back to her when he reaches the hall, his mouth seeming to fill with words, like an afterthought.

Suddenly she's riding on an impulse, and scared shitless that he'll find a reason to continue this. So she bats at the door, watching as it swings roughly towards him, slamming between them before he can say another damaging word.

She waits by the door for an immeasurable amount of time, until she hears two reluctant footsteps graduate down the hall away from her.

She cries a river, then.

 **It's done**.

* * *

 _Let the water run shower_

 _'Cause I'm in over my head_

 _I've been thinking it lately_

 _Wish we tied it off_

 _But we're too bad_

 _In the sum of our shadows_

 _Something starting to slip_

 _And the more we build it up_

 _The higher it's gonna get_

' _ **Heartbeat** ' By Zola Blood_

* * *

Being almost on the verge of completely blind drunk eases the pain. There is a numbness now, after about an hour of sitting in an armchair, staring into space and allowing the last few hours of drink and the flood of adrenaline to leave her system, only to be replaced by a heavy dose of fermented sugar. More alcohol.

She sits there, focusing on the glass in her hand and the way her pickled veins keep her sedated from the feelings that have ripped through her earlier in the night. She takes another sip of the organic red wine, that she'd bought from a little specialist wine cellar in the week; _an importer of french wines from all around the country_. She'd fallen in love with with one in particular, Chateau d'Abzac, a charming Bordeaux wine, that is grown between Libourne and Saint-Emilion, along the riverside.

She had wondered, _at the time_ , what it would be like to walk alongside the bank there. _To take a tour of the wide open vineyard, and the breathe the same air that fed the soil and the plants. To pick the fruit and eat the food and drink the wine and feel the romance of a country that is so steeped in the sentiment._

Her eyes glance at the second bottle, as it rests on the side of the ornate dresser.

 _She wonders who she has to fuck to get a bottle opener_ , until her more reasonable mindset deduces that she could call room service, and order a bottle opener up to the room.

She stretches to the phone, dialling the 103 to the Reception.

She clears her throat, making the most of the lucid moment within the eye of her own personal storm.

"Hi," She says, when she hears the Night Concierge on the other end. "I'd like to request a bottle opener to be sent to room 206, please? I only need it for a moment. I don't care about the cost." She requests. "I'd even pay from someone to come up here, and 'pop', open the bottle for me," She manages, watching her diction. She listens for a moment, as chatter erupts in the background, instantly boring her already stripped patience, before the woman kindly explains to her that her best bet is to take it to the restaurant. She huffs, putting down the receiver without so much as a response. She winces, reminding herself that she'll pay for that rudeness later...

She'd sooner stay in her room tonight. But she wagers that she won't sleep a wink after the day she's had. She mumbles a curse word or two, her eyes glancing at the late hour on the mantle clock, and slips her shoes on, picking up her room key and padding reluctantly over to the door.

When she swings the door open by the handle, she heaves a sharp breath, her mouth dropping open, as she looks up at Harvey, suddenly frozen to the spot at his much taller height. The lack of coat, and suit jacket distracts her for a moment, her usual omniscience catching up with her rather drunken state. His arms are bare and his sleeves are rolled up his tie askew at the knot, and silvery grey at that. _She doesn't have time to linger on how he only ever seems to wear that colour when he's had a run in with either her or his Mother..._

" ** _I_** **am** _ **'in love' with you**_ , okay?" He says harshly. "There. _**I said it**_." He states, huffing. "And I've been _trying to avoid this_ …' _ **US'**_...but...I do. _**I do**_...Love you, Donna,"

His expression is different. It's unbridled and intense like he's entirely at odds with himself, for the split second it takes for his hands fold around her face, his lips capturing hers with a splintered hunger. She feels herself crush against him, balancing one another over the threshold. He smells like the colour blue, and tastes of the acid tinged version of his signature whiskey, as his lips bruise and his day old stubble scratches at her delicate skin. She feels his hands hesitate slightly across her shoulders, sliding around the back of her head, as his head angles for a moment, as his tongue slides fully into her mouth and he sucks at her mouth. She groans, the sound guttural as her eyebrows twitch with a slight shock, as her fingers bury themselves into his shirt, her fingertips brushing at his sides before she presses her hips against his.

He breaks apart from her in a rush, looking at her, aghast.

"I...I'm sorry." He stutters. "I shouldn't have...I...I have to... _go_." He says, backing away from her.

Her eyes widen, watching him walk away.

Her fingers touch at her lips, swollen and red as she stares in complete shock at what the last few minutes has brought her.

 _Harvey Specter...just..._

* * *

I'll have another Chapter out in the next 48. *Pinky Swear*


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes** : Apologies that it's late I had to take last minute work! :-( But you guys...thank you so much for the reviews! I always expected that _Harvey_ would kiss her first. I guess we will have to see what 7b brings. But for now...let's explore that, shall we? A xx

* * *

.

 **Chapter 5**

.

* * *

 _Took the breath from my open mouth_

 _Never known how it broke me down_

 _I went in circles somewhere else_

 _Shook the best when your love was home_

 _Storing up on your summer glow_

 _You went in search of someone else_

' _Anchor' By Novo Amor._

.

* * *

He presses his hotel door closed with his foot, trying, still to catch his breath.

 _Harvey Specter is running away._ He knows that he is. He knows what he's running away from, too.

He's running away from _Donna_. And himself. _And them_. And the singular _idea_ of them.

But most of all, he's running away from his own actions. _The disparity between his heart and what he fears the most._

 _Having her. Losing her. And all the in-between._

He kissed her. **He kissed Donna**. He kissed her, when he was _**still**_ with Paula. And to top that, he did _the one thing in the world_ that he vowed _never_ to do to another living soul.

But she was standing there _and heartbroken and beautiful and he just…_

 _Lost himself for a little while._

He couldn't leave it like that. Not After. He had allowed her to force answers out of him, answers just to shut her up. And then he had finally said it and suddenly, the words didn't sound like he had meant them to. Suddenly, and starkly her reaction, in particular, was the one thing in the world that he couldn't stand the sight of, and the notion that he _wasn't_ in love with her just seemed... _entirely_ _wrong_. He couldn't quantify it. Couldn't understand where it came from after everything that had happened. After everything he had thought he knew and where he thought he was finally at, in his life.

But he _had_ lied.

And he _did_ love her. How could he _not_ ….

She was... _Donna_.

She was….that 'thing' in his life...that _person_ , that he wasn't allowed. _The one_ that he had put into a very safe box labelled: Friend. _Best Friend._ Co-worker. Partner in Crime - often _too clear_ a description given their candor - and Cohort, against the ugly pushes and pulls of this world.

But _never_ **Girlfriend**. Never... _that_.

She had charted a course for them long ago, after _The Other Time_ , and she had never _once_ deviated away from that. And he had followed willingly.

And so he had lived comfortably. They had everything between them. _Why change that?_ _What more could they ever need than what they had?_

Everything had sailed smoothly between them, until, _of course_ , _she suddenly wanted it changed._

 _With a jolt of lightning, she was ripping everything clean away from him. From them._

And again, through the fear of not wanting to alter a thing in his overly perfect world, he gave her up, only to see her walk clean away from him and not look back.

But then, as if by a miracle, she _came back_...and he figured... _at least she wasn't completely gone_. _At least they had that._

And then she had wanted more again and yet...wouldn't tell him exactly 'what' that _more_ was. Even when he had gathered the courage to ask.

A streak of frustration hangs in his chest, now, reminding him of all the times she's refused to answer his questions. And _he did ask them_. He didn't push them. But he _did_ ask.

He's scared, to have it all. He doesn't know a single person in his life who has everything, _so why should he be any different?_ _What's to say that they get anything out of this?_

 _And Paula?_

He looks down at his phone, guilt forming a perfect little crystal in his mind. _He had promised he'd call her when he landed…_

He frowns, texting her a simple message, telling her he arrived safely but into a _complete shit storm_.

 _It's not **that** far from the truth..._

Despite that, the action causes a frown to slide onto his forehead with a pronounced pressure.

 _This is a mess. They are a mess. A complete mess of lives,_ he thinks _._

He slumps onto the bed, dropping his phone onto the comforter as his body finally succumbs to the downspell of adrenaline. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. He realises then, that he can still taste her, the remnant of that heady red wine on her tongue, transferred onto his, and the ghosted memory of her lips mixing in with the his slight whiskey breath. He can still smell her perfume on him, that distinct crispness that muddles in with the vanilla and caramel and bananas. He leans back, the seep of dread filling up his mind just to quash the innate urge that stirs within him.

 _He wants to go back to 206._

 _He wants to finish that kiss and have it lead where his body seems to want to tell him to go._

 **But he won't.**

 _He owes Paula that, at least._

And Donna, _he owes…_

Well.

 _Some things about them are too dangerous to entertain right now._

* * *

 _The shadows appear and linger behind us  
From the raging sun  
No words exchanged as we speak from our hearts, and hold back the tears_

 _But it's a foolish and a dangerous endeavor_  
 _It's a cut against the grain_  
 _It is not wise to go against the weather_  
 _Just to get caught out in the rain_  
 _And through it all_  
 _Your words remain_  
 _Like teardrops in a hurricane_  
 _Like teardrops in a hurricane_

 _'Like teardrops in a hurricane'_

By Jordan Mackampna

* * *

Donna Paulsen wakes with a start, middle daylight streaming through the heavy undrawn curtains, and the measured pounding of her heartbeat hammering with a sickliness in her head. She groans, an immediate lurch in her stomach as she sprints off of the bed, scrambling almost in a panic to get to the bathroom. Within seconds, she's emptying the the entire contents of last night into the toilet bowl, the harsh acid bile gushing into clean white porcelain. She sits back onto the tiled flooring, the coldness of it making her shiver as she waits for a moment to catch her uneven breath. _This kind of emotional free fall,_ she thinks to herself, _is only reserved for undergrads and the angsty 80s romantic comedies of her youth._

She stretches, tearing off a piece of toilet paper as she wipes her mouth, a wave of pin-pricked heat coursing through her veins enough to tell her that she's past the point of dehydration and a supposed quick recovery. She squints against the light that floods into the elegant bathroom.

It hits her then, the stark unbleached memory,

Of Harvey.

 _Kissing her._

 _Telling her that he was in love_.

With _**her**_ , no less.

And then unceremoniously leaving her, nay, running in the complete opposite direction like he was on fire, or a fourteen year old girl.

She wonders where he is now.

 _Did he get a room? Is he still here, in the building?_ Or did he hot tail the first flight out of Montreal just to get away from her?

 _This wasn't how it was meant to be._

He was _still_ with Paula…

It was as plain as the light of day. Without his words, that she only half remembers anyway.

 _Would he still be with the woman? After this? After everything..._

She couldn't think about that now. She needed to _do_ _her_.

He wasn't coming to save her.

She would have to do that all by herself.

First things on her list: _Pack. Shower. Drink a Camel worth of water, and check out of the hotel before her allotted time has her staying an extra day._

Besides, _It was time to go back to New York City._

And _not_ because he had kissed her.

But because she couldn't run from the idea of them any longer,

 _ **Not if he was going to find her anyway.**_

* * *

 _I'll hold, so near and cold_

 _You've exhumed my love_

 _And I'm sold, and our story will grow old_

 _But you'll make dust from gold_

 _And I'll know that your heart was once like mine_

 _Watch the flaws unwind_

 _And I'll throw my love to the ground_

 _And I'll tear you out_

' ** _From Gold_** ' by Novo Amor

* * *

Harvey Specter has started _fidgeting_. It started the moment that his flight was delayed, and he was forced to sit and wait in the airport like a dud. Much to his complete annoyance, it continued even as he boarded the plane and found his seat.

He knows the reason for it, he's just... _ignoring why_.

The problem, however, is that being forced to sit in an airplane, _a capsulated vessel_ , midair and disconnected from the land below, wasn't helping any. No matter _how_ spacious first class was, or how many Macallans he ordered, neat. Any attempt to quash the feeling, was only making it worse.

He wants to call her.

 _ **Donna.**_ He clarifies in his mind.

 _Not Paula._

He wants to tell her that he's sorry that he had left so abruptly. That he needs to make things right before he can even begin to _think_ about the idea of _them_. But he'd decided, the moment that he left that hotel room, that he couldn't talk to Donna until he'd spoken to the _other woman_ occupying his mind.

He had been beside himself, at his own actions. He had been thoughtless, and cruel. _Paula didn't deserve this._

He feels the guilt drain into his stomach, even now, in thinking about it.

 _What will he tell her? How will he frame it?_

 ** _Should he tell her anything?_**

He shakes the last thought from his mind, as orange and peach and brown flickers in the back of his head.

 _ **He has to tell her.**_

"Sir, would you like another Whiskey?"

His eyes flick up to a rather attractive blonde stewardess, as she looks down at him expectedly. He feels the plastic glass in his hand, as his fingers twitch against it.

 _A decade ago, he'd have been getting her number and arranging a little 'Mile High' action…just to take the edge off._

 _A younger 'him' would have gotten drunk, in the wake of such an eruption of feeling._

"Actually, I'd like a coffee." He sighs, hating himself just that _little_ more. "A _large_ one. With vanilla, if you have it..." He adds, frowning at the addition to his request.

* * *

Leaving Canada was an entirely different experience, from her long journey up there.

There was no panic, now. No raw emotion that she just had to _run out of her system_ like a stressed hamster on wheel.

There was a bittersweetness in the air, though, a lingering sadness as she passed over the border.

 _Canada had been kind to her._ Had shown her the truth, but in a way that she could take it _or_ leave it.

She always knew that fate was going to catch up with her eventually.

She had moved _West_ , instead of dropping further North towards the city.

An hour later, and she's following signs that she remembers ignoring whilst being in the back of some beat up old car, _all knobbly knees and overconfidence_. She arrives at a familiar door an hour later, that she remembers avoiding, _in favour of climbing up the trellis…_

She sighs. _It's been a while_ , she thinks to herself, flipping her hair to give it a little added body. There is a nervousness there, a preempting of a conversation about Mousse and _the correct blow-drying temperature_ …

 _Harvey isn't the only one that doesn't make enough of an effort with his family._

A woman opens the door, caramel hair shoulder length hair in a thick bob and a stunned coral lipstick covered smile curving into her similar features.

"Donna, honey!" The older woman peels with a lightness, opening her arms as Donna smiles reservedly.

" _Hey Mom_ ," She says tiredly, allowing herself to be enveloped in the arms of the slight woman, dressed to the nines like she's only just come off of the set of Dynasty. She always wondered if her Mother had the same dresses for years, _having bought them all up and thrown them into storage in the eighties_ ; as if she knew that someday they'd be seen as obsolete and needed to be _fully prepared_.

 _To say her Mother is a character is to suggest that Mickey Mouse might be of rodent lineage..._

She smells like grapefruit and chocolate. It evokes a memory of her being younger. Impressionable. Naive. Knowing much less than she does now.

Her Mother looks older, with extra lines around her face and a slight panic at her only daughter finally being in attendance. She slides a hand against Donna's cheek, her own greeny brown eyes checking her daughter. Giving her a once over.

 _She'd expect no less from the woman..._

"Come in, come in," The woman ushers, as she escorts her daughter into her old home.

The house hasn't changed much since Christmas, she observes. The slightly boat-house themed hallway is a repeat introduction to her Mother's home.

She's stopped asking about boyfriends. _Her Mothers, that is._

Natalie Paulsen had pretty much _dived off of the deep end_ , when her husband had left.

 _Cocktail parties. Soirees._ **_Cougardom_.** Everything to settle a clearly unsettled heart.

It's probably the reason she'd fallen in love with Harvey.

 _A man who could provide._

 _A man who was steady._

She'd just never factored into her life, the fact that every person had their weaknesses. _And that Harvey's inconsistence had to bleed out somewhere._

She follows her Mother, as the older woman saunters into the lounge. Donna smiles tiredly at the minibar. She had no urge to drink, after last night, but it warms her heart to know that she's not the only one in the family that needs to let loose occasionally.

"Cocktail?" Her Mother offers.

"No thanks, Mom." She smiles, knowingly.

Her Mother double takes at the response, before looking to the ceiling for a moment.

She struggles with the urge to groan at her Mother's dramatic behaviour.

"Tea then?" The older woman offers.

"Tea...would be _great_...thank you." She smiles evenly, watching as her Mother disappears into the kitchen for a moment.

She wanders then, having a look about her childhood lounge. It's muted colours and slightly dated decor remind her of a time _long since past_.

 _She's come a long way_ , since being a quiet teenanger, playing the piano in this very room.

 _The piano left along with her Father..._

 _But her Mother, since then, doesn't appear to have changed a day._

Donna wonders if maybe, just maybe, her children will look at her in the same way, too.

 _Unchanged for their own benefit and somewhat distorted in their eyes._

The thought pulls at her mind. _Children. Having a family_ …the idea seems overdue, now _._

Her Mother appears in front of her, a gold edged tray in her hands. Donna walks over to her, taking the tray from her Mother, and placing it on the coffee table between two large cream leather couches, before sitting down, and picking up the teapot, immediately pouring an amount into two dainty blue china cups.

"Sugar, Mom?" She offers lightly.

" _Oh, no, thank you darling._ I've passed the age where women can afford such luxuries as _sugar_." She replies, giving her a look that borders on the slight hint of an insinuation.

She struggles not to roll her eyes, pursing her lips together just to stop her from making some remark, _that would no doubt step her into hotter water than the teapot she's holding._

She pours a drop of cream into both from a small white jug, and hands her Mother a cup, before picking up her own.

"So...what brings you here on this rather impromptu visit?" Her Mother asks, a flourish in her words.

"I was...in the neighbourhood." She lies.

 _Telling her Mother that she drove to Canada would only invite an unwelcome conversation._

Her Mother was very much a 'never travel without a companion' kind of woman. She'd look upon Donna's spontaneity like she had always done. _Strangely._ Donna had always been a 'Daddy's girl', something that had made her Father's past failings so much harder to digest. And her Mother had done what she could to survive. _In her way._ She was very much a man's woman, and a wife, rather than a Mother and a Homemaker.

 _She always wondered why she never remarried._

"Well. It's nice to see you anyway. Shirley and Patricia ask about you. I told them about your recent Promotion." She smiles then. "How is it going? No longer being Harvey's Assistant?"

She ignores the slight burn that her words encourage.

"Good. _I_...have my own office now." She says.

"How is Harvey these days?" Hey Mother asks, skipping over her statement and leaning slightly forward. "I'm still surprised that he's never thought about settling down. An attractive man like that… _he must have a string of women lining up around the corner for him_?" She muses, her gaze drifting in the thought of such a thing.

 _God forbid Harvey Specter not have 'taken a woman'_ , she thinks to herself.

Natalie Paulsen had been all over a young Harvey Specter like a rash, at _her_ god-awful dinner party. _Of course_ , _he_ had taken it with a pinch of salt, like a gentleman, and like most people in the world, chalked it down to ' _standard Natalie Paulsen'_. _Same old Natalie Paulsen._ _The flirtatious woman with a soft spot for the 'younger man'..._

But Donna can see through it. _She always could._ Her Mother had changed the moment her Father had failed. Somehow it had broken her, in ways that Donna still didn't fully understand. Her Mother had never talked of her childhood, so there was never anything to add up. But Donna remembers her own one, and that is enough to explain a few things, at least.

"How about you? No man on the horizon?" Her Mother asks, clearly giving her the third degree.

Her Mother had never _ **once**_ asked her about her and Harvey, over the years.

As if the mere _thought_ of such a thing was audacious, and out of the question. _Like diamonds and gravel_. Her Mother was still from the era where it was seen as ungodly to date 'under your station'.

 _And her Mother had taken Donna's failure in the arts, to go hand in hand with her being just an Assistant._

Her place in society would be forever cemented in _Administration_.

 _No high flying Man for Donna Roberta Paulsen. No no no..._

Something snaps in her then, her mouth opening with a guile.

"Well...Harvey just kissed me and...told me that he was _**in love with me**_...so...I'm kind of taken up with that, right now." She says, for herself more than her Mother. "And he's seeing someone. So...I don't know what will come of it." She adds. "So no time for a boyfriend, Mom."

She watches her Mother pass through a string of emotions, from slight shock to interest, and what Donna detects as a little hint of pity.

" _Be careful Donna_...men like that can destroy a woman. If he's kissing you and sleeping with someone else than that tells you enough." Her mother warns.

It irks her. Her Mothers pias response.

The moment between them has been _long since_ overdue.

Her entire life she has battled against people telling her - in a round about way - that she wasn't worthy of Harvey. _That Harvey was one thing, and she was another._ That she was the little piece on the side, not worth the entire thought. Despite it all, she had remained firm in her self love and challenged anyone who dared assume anything to the contrary. Knowing different. Harvey had been the only one to suggest likewise.

That _self love_ , had only begun to slide from her being the moment she had realised that Harvey had her heart in his hands. Only then, did she truly doubt herself.

"Actually Mom, we slept together over a decade ago." She tells her. "After I left the DA's office."

Her Mother frowns oddly, looking to her daughter in disbelief.

She straightens then, looking at her Mother's paused expression.

"Why you didn't tell me?"

"Because...he had pursued me, but I had a rule against _doing that_ with a co-worker...and then I left the District Attorney's office, and then we...did." She explained. "But then...he wanted me to come work with him, and I...made a choice." She shrugs. "There was no point in telling you something that I had told him we would never discuss again."

"And now he's...kissed you?"

"Yes. It's after a long string of situations that I'd rather not into."

Her mother takes a moment, the information percolating in her mind. Donna can almost see the equations formulating in her mind.

"How long has he being seeing this... _girlfriend_ of his?"

"Two Months."

She watches her Mother nod, oddly thoughtful for a moment.

 _There's something unsettling about the way her aged face charts a number of deductions about her and Harvey's situation..._

"Do you love _him_?" Natalie Paulsen asks her daughter.

"Yes, Mom. I have realised, lately, that I do. Very much."

"Just be careful, Donna." Her Mother warns her. Her tone is softer this time.

" _ **Oh, don't worry about me, Mom**_." She replies matter of factly, picking up her cup. " _He's_ the one who needs to worry. Believe me." She promises her, before finishing her tea.

* * *

 _We go around in circles_

 _No future set in stone_

 _But we need to cross these troubled waters_

 _Round we go, emotions, round and round we go_

 _Oh, no no_

'Open Arms' by Jordan MacKampna

* * *

Harvey Specter drives away from a classically understated home just outside of central New York City.

He doesn't think he'll be back. _Ever_.

Some things are better left _not retreaded upon_ , once they've been unceremoniously pulled down.

Words are reeling in his mind, still. Statements and pieces of conversation that make him think differently of the last few months.

He wonders if he _really_ knew Paula Agard. If their union had been built upon the things he thought it was. All he is left with is a worn in frown, and a key in his hand.

 _It's a transparent ideal, now turned muddy in his mind's eye._

 _It unsettles him._ The idea that he had somehow tricked himself, over these months.

He ends up in suspended thought, until he closes the door shut to his apartment.

He takes a long hot silent shower, and slides into bed.

He remembers one thing. _From the woman who used to be his therapist._

 ** _If you don't exorcise the possibility of her from your mind. Then you'll never truly move on…_**

He understands the premise.

Just one thing catches him, about that _statement._

 _He can't imagine a world,_

 _Where Donna Paulsen isn't right there,_

 _Beside him._

 _And as for the notion of moving on..._

His mind slides out of words,

And focuses,

 _On coppery waves,_

 _And porcelain valleys._

 _Laying on a sea of white cotton._

 _In a room filled with greys._

His eyes flick to his phone, remembering words he once said to her.

He feels foolhardy, all of a sudden. Despite the feeling of a slight flutter in his chest.

 _He wonders if maybe it's a little like that…_

 _ **Love**_ _, that is._

 _His hands scroll to her name. Just one word. Like a name and title rolled into one._

 _He realises, that this could be the first call, of the rest of his life._

 _If she answers_ , that is.

 _The odds may be stacked against him at this point._

 **~ Two people who care about each other, don't move on at all... ~**

* * *

It's nine in the evening, when Donna finally opens her apartment door, ignoring the ever-poignant 'two-oh-six' on the hardwood as she pulls her keys out of the lock.

She flicks on a light, watching as it illuminates her scarlet red hallway, before sliding her suitcase firmly on its rollers, right over the threshold. Her leaving and then returning holds a little more weight to it than it's done in the past.

She sighs, flicking on another light, before looking about her lounge.

 _She's come a long way in her life_ , she thinks, smiling to herself. _For the all the things missing, she has so much to show herself._

Her phone buzzes in her pocket, as she frowns, fishing it out of the side of her long, draping cardigan.

She pauses, a slight shiver running up her chest.

Harvey's name flashes up on the front screen.

 _She's only had her phone on three times this week._

But every time she turns it on, his name has been there, in one way or another.

She swallows, her breath slightly shallow, as she swipes the green call button, raising the cellphone to her ear.

"... _Hey_ …" She finds herself saying.

She realises that her heart is beating a little fast, when she's able to measure the half a second gap before he answers.

"Hey…" He reflects the word back at her. "It's _me_." He states.

She feels a small laugh fall out of her, something held and awkward at his _even more awkward_ statement, before her voice warms. "I _know_ it's you...unless...this is _the other Harvey Specter_ in my contacts." She plays, a flirtatious nature tainting her bold remark.

She smiles to herself as she hears him groan deliberately on the other end. " _Smartass_." He accuses, in a slightly grumbly fashion.

" _Always_." She chimes.

Her face grows serious for a second, when she remembers their current place in one another's lives.

That she is still _the woman he is in love with_. But... _not_...his girlfriend. As impossible a situation as it seems.

"I just wanted to...make sure that you got back, okay. That your flight wasn't..delayed or anything…" He enquires. She notices a strange recollection in his voice, that almost makes her want to ask a question.

"I _drove_ , actually." She says matter of factly, the right side of her mouth twitching as if she knows that there's a possibility he'll have something to say about it. _Just like her Mother would._ "There _and_ back." She says, candidly.

" **You** _**drove...to Canada**_?" He clarifies.

She hears the slight worry and shock in his voice, and struggles not to smile widely at it.

"I was upset with you. _With...Us_ …" She explain, an excuse weak in her voice.

" **I broke up with Paula**." He tells her.

Her breath hitches.

 _And_.

 _Just._

 _Like._

 _That._

 _It's. Done._

She realises then, that this is not a normal 'statement and response' kind of a phone call.

"Donna?" She hears his voice call her on the other end. "You still there?"

"I'm…" _Shocked? Surprised? Nervous? All of the above?_ She thinks _._ "I'm here." She says deftly. "I'm... _ **sorry**_." She finds herself saying, her posture bending towards the phone, into that of a comfort offering stance that she knows he can't see but fits all the same.

 _She can't imagine what he's thinking or feeling right now._ Harvey always had a way of feeling everything all at once and giving away much less.

He may have hurt her, repeatedly, but she still cares for his day, and the troubles he may have had.

"Don't be." He tells her.

She wonders how he really feels about it. Splitting up with a woman he seemed to be happy with.

"I just...wanted you to... _know_. And, I...wanted to see if you got back okay. And now I have, so…" He stumbles over the words, as if he's trying to stretch out the call.

She frowns, sensing his confusion on the other end.

"You know, before this, we were able to have _perfectly functional_ conversations…" She jokes, a teasing insinuation in her tone.

"Well...we're... _different_ , now." He tells her.

" _Are we_?" She isn't able to catch the fear in her words, as they fall out of her mouth with thud.

 _They are both completely lost in their situation._

 _It's entirely disarming_ , she realises. _It's not just him. They are a tangled ball of joined feeling._

" **I don't wanna mess things up with you**." She hears him say. His voice feels steeped in caramel and earnest, and she can sense its depth, even with the distance between them, even over the phone.

" _Me either_." She smiles, the irony not lost on her. And the meaning, a little _more_ than his words were aiming for.

"We should.. _.take a day_? Talk on Monday?" He offers.

"Yeah. _Why not_." She shrugs. "My Sunday will most likely consist of unpacking, anyway." She tells him. "I have about a _ton_ of washing to do." She says. "Although, most of it, I need to take to the dry cleaners..." She sighs. " _I swear_ , one day, I'm going to take **a week** and _just_ wear yoga pants and sweaters, and I'm going to wear them _**with pride**_ , knowing that I don't have to see Raoul for that _**one**_ of the fifty two weeks out of the year." She confesses.

She hears a knock at her door, as she frowns slightly, her mind entertained on just who could possibly disturb her at this late hour. _Perhaps Louis, or maybe a worried Rachel…_

She owes Rachel a lunch, at the very least. _That woman will always be her shining star, and her dearest friend and confidant. Save for Mike..._

" _One second_ ," She tells Harvey, looking towards the hallway.

"What?" He asks. _She hears him frown in that way he does._

"Someone's at my door. Just... _one second..._ " She says fussily.

"Any Gentleman callers I should know about?" He offers over the phone.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she wanders towards her own door. " _Of course_...it must be the _sexy_ Raoul," She says sarcastically, " _Did I not mention he does house calls_?" She adds, devilishly, pulling the door open by it's lock.

She freezes, two brown eyes looking down at her with a frustratingly disarming smirk.

" _Raoul_?" He offers, his eyebrows twitching. "Do you think I could pull it off? Coz I'm not…." He offers, light heartedly.

She sighs, her head tilting at the sight of him, as he ends the call on his phone, sliding it into his pocket.

"I didn't want to take the day." He admits, his expression honest but slightly fragile, as his hands twitch at his sides.

In a second, she's transported back, well over a decade and then some.

Her bangs have _long gone_.

His face has lost that babyish quality to it.

But they are _essentially the same as they've always been._

She recovers for a moment enough to reign her look of shock in, covering it with a knowing smile. It falters, when he looks at like she's covered in gold.

"You gonna let me in, or what?"

"That depends... _on the nature of your visit_?" She asks him, sliding her own phone into her pocket.

"Extra...curricular?" He offers, his face charting a knife edge of uneasy humour in his own words.

She smirks. " _Get in here_ ," She gestures with her chin, smirking as she side steps him to allow him passage.

He walks into the hallway, his eyes never once leaving hers, and a firm electricity buzzing between them. She finds herself blinking several times, as if to disarm the way he's looking down at her, those pools of dark brown, like a liquid suggestion of the heart.

She realises, when he takes a small step towards her,

That she is _blind-ass_ terrified. More than _he_ appears to be.

That this is... _real_. It's not a wistful idea, anymore.

He seems to sense her reservation, a question framed in his furrowed eyebrows and the way he holds his jaw. She bites her lip, before her lips pucker into an 'o', and she lets out a breath.

She does something brave, then, her right hand reaching boldly out to grab his left one, as she tugs him gently out towards the direction of the lounge.

She misses it all, when several steps in, he spins her back towards him, his other hand catching at her waist. For a second, all she sees is a blur of onyx tinted brown orbs, and two distinct moles, before his dominant hand slides against her cheek and his lips eagerly capture hers. Her eyes flutter closed in a reaction, as she feels his left hand turn under hers, his fingers sliding up her palm and into the loose sleeve of her cardigan only to slide sensually over the thin skin of her wrist and further up her arm.

She's only felt a shiver like that _once_ before.

 _Both times,_

Harvey Specter was one to encourage it.

* * *

~ _You always build it better the second time around_ ~

' _ **Build it Better'**_ By Aaron Wright.

* * *

 _Note: I didn't want to write Paula and Harvey breaking up, because I literally want that to happen on the show MORE than Darvey at this point. I will sip a cocktail the moment that that strange and OOC woman has been extracted from Harvey Specter's life… lol_


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's notes:**

Apologies guys. I wrote this months ago and just forgot. Hopefully this is a nice little chapter for you guys!

A little above Mish rating here,

. .

* * *

Chapter 6

. .

"Wait...Harvey... _we need to_...talk." She says, pulling away from him, her hair slightly fuzzy and

"No no no." He objects, his voice low and commanding. "Of all the things we need to do right now, talking is not one of them. We need to... _continue_. This. Line. of. Eventuality." He manages in between kisses.

" _Harvey_ ," She mumbles against his lips. Their eyes catch, her looks being one of the only things in the world that can stop him dead in his tracks. He sighs heavily, pulling back a fraction, his hands sliding over her shoulders in a weak attempt to disarm her objection.

"Donna...if we don't do this now, it'll never happen." He insists, doubt clear in his voice.

" _Well.. if you keep running after other women then it_ _ **definitely**_ _won't_ ," She says, rather pointedly.

His eyes flash at her words then. " _Well, as long as you don't strike up any more fuck buddies at the office, then we're good, Right_?" He counters harshly.

It's enough to ground them both dead their tracks.

"Harvey," Her voice is like a deadweight, as her head tilts, judging his uneven expression.

He exhales, knowing then that he's gone too far.

"Donna, we need to... _broach_ this hurdle." He tells her, his approach lighter then. "Un-pause the pause button, as it were." He offers. "Realign this...runaway train." He says, a knowing expression on his tired face.

 _He's right,_ she thinks to herself. _They've been in a decade long rut. That much, they can agree on._

"You know, with every passing day you sound more and more like me." She notes, her expression only then beginning to soften.

"You were bound to creep in there eventually." He reasons, closing the distance between them once more.

He pulls her to him then, in feeling her continued reluctance, he smoothes her sides, his head tilting in the kind of way that usually encourages her argument to wax and wane. " _Look_ , afterwards, we'll talk _as much_ as you want, I promise." He offers. "I'm not trying to be pushy, but I just...I don't want us bailing out on this, like _I_ did last time, and-"

"And the time before that...and the time before that…" She adds tiredly.

"Exactly," He smiles frankly.

She sighs heavily. _For once, he's right_. They're like a frustrated jockey on a jittery horse, refusing to jump a fresh white picket fence.

"I need a shower." She says, absent-mindedly.

"How big _is_ your shower?" He asks, something primal and luring in his dark eyes.

She catches on quicker than most. "Tiny. _Almost_.. _.too_ small." She exaggerates.

"Your bath?" He asks, giving her a look.

He watches as she looks up at him, in the throws of toying with him. "...Bigger." She smirks, reading the vibrant thoughts that streak across his face.

. . . . .

" _Well_ ," She says, sighing against the thick cloud of steam that rises up into the air. "Considering it's been over _a hundred years_ since we've even seen eachother _naked_ …" She notes, playing with the bubbles that float in stiff peaks around them, like a snow capped valley of beaten egg whites.

"It sure as hell feels like it's been that long," He agrees, his voice ending in a hum, as she quirks an eyebrow, leaning a little further back into his lap, allowing the action to linger enough to stir up a potent need in him, _the tantalising feeling of skin against skin_ , as he reacts, his arms sliding tighter under and around hers, the fine hairs on his arms brushing against her soft breasts as he presses her further into him.

"We haven't changed _that_ much." She notes, picking up a handful of foam.

" _I'd_ like to think that we're hotter versions of our younger, dorkier selves," He offers, watching as she turns to him, the few hairs that she hasn't pulled into a bun, tickling his nose as she sneaks a look at him.

"You're definitely hotter," She remarks, quirking a predatory eyebrow at him as she tilts her head back and onto his shoulder.

"Really?" He scrunches his face, seeming self conscious for a second, and very unlike himself. " _How_ exactly?"

"Well, firstly...you've lost that cute baby face," She plays, her foam covered hand sliding against his cheek with a marked precision.

"Hey!" He sputters, blowing the spray of foamy bubbles that she leaves against him. "I have _not_ …" He argues, wiping the foam off with a blind eye.

"Not in a bad way." She clarifies, smiling at her perfect assault. "You didn't used to _smoulder_ quite as much as you do now." He tells him, looking into his eyes as he continues to wipe rather unsuccessfully at his face.

"Okay do you _really_ mean smoulder, or do you just mean _scowl_?" He offers.

She shrugs, unaware of what it does to him in the process. "Sure, you scowl a pretty heavy amount too. But that's just... _the Specter charm_." She wagers. "Plus your cheekbones are kind of...my cryptonite." She admits, tracing his face with her moist fingers in a way that makes him pout as she sinks gently down enough to look help their eyes meet above her head.

"You know that that makes this incest, right? _Superman and Supergirl_?" He remarks.

"Shouldn't that be 'Super-woman'?" She corrects.

"Hey, blame Stan Lee, not me." He balks, holding onto her a little tighter, like a well knitted distraction.

"Who's Stan Lee again?" She lands the evocative question.

The look he gives her sends a peel of laughter to fall out of her, as he tickles her sides in retaliation of her crude remark. She giggles, girlishly and unlike herself, sitting up and grasping both of his thighs in a way that has him hissing in held tension, his head leaning forward to plant a kiss against the nape of her neck, a velvet covered moan escaping him at the brazen contact.

She stills for a moment, humming pleasantly when she feels his growing need twitch against her back.

"Okay, we need to go have sex right _now_ , I can't take this," She reams off the words, pulling out the plug at the other end before hopping out of the bath with a lightness.

"You think I don't know that?" He says, giving her a deadpanned look.

She smirks at his slightly pained expression, wrapping a towel around herself.

"What are you doing?" He accuses, his frown lines deepening.

"Drying myself?" She states, confused by his words.

"Oh... _good_." He says, his erection bouncing slightly as he gets out of the bath.

She arches an eyebrow. "Seriously...has it... _always_ been _that_ big?" She asks, narrowing her eyes at the sight of him.

"I'm just a piece of meat to you, aren't I?" He asks, folding his arms over his chest.

She blinks, the words reminding her of a very different man at a very different time.

 _How different her life has become..._

"No...you're _also_ my bread and butter." She smirks, before she glances at it again, blushing slightly. "You know, looking at it is actually making me a little nervous. Seriously..." She says, putting a hand in front of her face.

"This, _by the way,_ " He infers, gesturing between them. "Mocking the merchandise?" He clarifies. "A _huuuuge_ turn on." He says, his voice drenched in sarcasm despite his dead-panned face.

"Come on, you sensitive little creature," She beckons with her index finger, watching as he follows willingly, closing the distance and grasping at her towel to rip it away from her in one fluid motion. "Hey!" She protests, as she freezes in shock, her eyes wide, until his arms slide around her waist, her hands trapped in the space between as they slide down his chest, feeling every inch of his attraction to her in warm wet skin and a strong heartbeat.

He licks his lips, rocking them from side to side and backwards down the hall as he encourages her to the bedroom, their lips half meeting in little pockets of moments until he stops them, just shy of the doorframe, and she disconnects, looking to her bed.

"God...you're... _.messier_ than I remember." He remarks boldly.

She looks to him, giving him a defensive look. "I was _distraught_ , Harvey…" She reminds him, poking at his chest. "You were dating someone, and I thought you didn't love me. I practically ran out of the city like Roadrunner." She excuses, giving him a look.

"Hey," He says then, his hands grasping at her shoulders to get her to look at him. "I love you... _more than I think I'll ever fully understand_." He says, one hand raising to slide the pad of his right thumb against her cheek. " _Never_ doubt that." He tells her.

"Okay," She nods, her voice quiet. "I'll try." The look in his eyes calming her somewhat.

 _It's all so much._ Them. The twenty-four hour turnaround. It's all so new and fresh and her emotions have been like a live wire this past week.

He bends down, kissing her just the right amount to have her melt slightly against him, as her fingers slide into his hair, bringing them closer together. She sighs against his lips as he molds her to his slightly larger frame, pushing her backwards until one leg hooks around hers and his hands brace to break her fall. She makes a slightly strangled 'oh' as he lands her onto the end of the soft unframed bed, the quilt cover muddled in a heap underneath her as he climbs on top of her, his lips tugging at her bottom one before his mouth slips to her neck.

She moans, throwing her head back as she feels his lips slide down her throat, his teeth grazing over one collarbone, as his hands trail across each nipple, flicking over them until his mouth meets the left one. He smiles against her skin as she gasps, her fingers raking across his back as he sucks at her breasts, his teeth gently dragging across the skin before he descends further, his mouth trailing kisses down the middle of her stomach as his tongue darts in a spiral around her navel, before delivering one long stroke against her stomach until he reaches her abdomen, his tongue swirling in a lazy pattern all the way to the tip of her pubic bone. She hitches a breath then, as he presses her legs apart, encouraging her open for him as he trails wetter and wetter kisses down the side of one inner thigh, his own legs lowering to kneel on the floor.

Her bed is oddly low, he notes to himself, as he grasps each of her thighs and pulls her towards the end of the bed.

She looks down at him, her hair having fallen out of it's lazy bun and now pouring like damp burnt caramel waves across the bed. He smirks wickedly, before poking his tongue boldly inside of her. She gasps, muttering something inaudible as his tongue flicks out and upwards, his lips pressing against her with an expert touch, before sucking at her center, eliciting the ripest of moans to stream into the air around them. The sound excites him immediately, and for a moment he's completely lost his train of thought, until his hand raises, and he licks his index finger languishly, before turning his palm over and sliding the finger into her. He feels that immediate tightness in his groin at the feel of her wet and warm and so tempting against his need to take it slow and not be hasty, until she moans, a hand grabbing his wrist, as she sits up, looking at him like he's taunting her.

"Harvey...I….huh...I need _you_ inside _me_ , .. _. **right** **the** **hell** **now**_." She commands, that sultry and unforgiving look in her liquid hazel eyes.

He chuckles then, disconnecting from her and rising on his feet to catch her lips with his, before she shuffles further back on the bed to allow him to climb over her, settling between her eagerly spread thighs.

"Ruin my fun…" He accuses, making a mental note to pick up where he left off in the morning.

Her hands fold across his shoulders, pressing their chests together before he straightens and enters her, the feeling of her, slick and moist and just a touch resistant as he thrusts half of his length into her. She moans, her mouth sucking at his neck in a way that threatens to ruin him, as he presses down on her hips, heightening the sensation with each deeper thrust. She lays down fully, her back meeting the uneven half strewn pile of various materials beneath her, as he slides a hand up her calf, raising it against his chest with ease. He smirks then, remembering their very first time, and how flexible she had been. _Some things,_ he realises, _don't change at all._ She curses him at the genius angle, a wave of adrenaline flooding her face as she bites her lip at the refined nature of his love making, until he hits the side of her wall and causes a resounding 'oooooh' to press into the space between them, her right hand gripping his shoulder, her maroon talons digging into his tanned skin. He smiles, overcome by the woman beneath him as his own cheeks start to flush and his thrusts get shorter and deeper, the pressure starting to build in him.

"Harvey," She moans, her breath starting to come in heavy waves.

He forgets himself for a moment, suddenly remembering that she is a woman, and this is not all about him, as his left hand slides between them, moving against her as he starts to pound into the side of her where her leg is lifted against him.

"Fuck," She says, her pitch raising then, as her hand finds his abs, bracing herself against them as she feels herself start to fall to pieces.

"Donna," He manages, her name coming like liquid caramel in his mouth.

 _It's the single most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life_ , he thinks, as the very nature of her gripping around him and moaning into the air fuel his own end. His body jerks from his groin to his chest, removing his hands to her hips to thrust once more, before that familiar spasm of release pools over his body, and he stills within her, examining the sheen of sweat across her face and the fuchsia pink blotches on her freckled cheeks.

For a moment their world is in stereo, their breath the only thing in the world for miles.

"We forgot the condom…" Donna says, finally cutting through the almost silence, as he lowers her leg and himself against her. He pulls out of her, kneeling for a moment in thought.

"Yeah...that was an... _oversight_." He declares, rubbing at his face for a second, the slightly out of body notion that he's just fucked someone far too special to ruin their life with one stupid moment.

She seems to sense his fear, as she raises off of the bed, her hands sliding around his neck and directing his gaze towards her as her legs fold around him.

"Hey...don't worry...I've been on the pill since I was eighteen." She assures him, watching as he regards her with a noticeable tiredness about him now, his hair sticking up and a softness to his posture.

"I just...I know how you are for planning." He remarks, watching as her gaze double checks his statement, before shaking her head. "Too soon?" He offers, his hands sliding around her waist.

"Now, you're just looking for the shock factor," She accuses, her hands mapping themselves around his face as he regards her for a moment. "I'm going to the bathroom." She tells him then, sliding out of his embrace and instantly cooling his skin in a way that he does not appreciate one bit.

As he hears her pad about the apartment, the sound of lights being shut off in the lounge and the lock on the door clicking into place, he pulls on his boxer-briefs, leaning against the headboard on one side, the comforter - with a notable wet patch - rolled neatly to the end of the bed.

She double takes them, as she returns to the room, him in his underwear and an even more naked smile, and her in a thin silk ivory dressing gown, as she passes the bed, flicking on the bedside light and turning to open a closet, a bundle of assorted quilts falling into her long arms.

"Seeing as my bedspread took the hit," She remarks, unrolling two covers to slide onto the mattress. "These will have to do." She reasons, before walking to the main light switch and turning it off, breaking the room into a muted orange glow as she slides back onto the bed.

"Perfect," He says, moving across the bed closer towards her, his hand pulling her waist to meet his, as their smiling lips collide in more teeth and collective sound than any kiss they've ever shared. It's not long before a joined impulse takes over, and steamrolls either's overly cool post-coital exterior.

"I love you," He tells her, his eyes hazy and slightly unfocused.

"I love _you_ ," She replies, letting herself relax fully against him.

He falls asleep to copper hair and rich amber light, the mingled smell of sex, and the flowery notes of peach and vanilla spread about her sheets.

This moment feels new, and wholly unlike all the others that have came after her all those years ago.

. . . .

Donna wakes up to a familiar pair of eyes, her flare for the dramatic catching up with her.

"Hey…'staring at me'," She accuses him by name, causing a shy smile to break out across his face.

"I wasn't _staring_ ," He says, his face crinkling with a boyishness. "I was gazing, _lovingly_ at you." He counters.

"Oh…" She says, playing along as she hooks her right leg around his left. "How very romantic comedy, of you." She notes, feeling his hand slide against her left hip as the other one continues to prop up his head.

"Your bedroom looks…. _different_." He observes, his eyes looking about the room to clarify the feeling.

"Well... _one_...you actually stayed this time..and two...I've redecorated….in the last thirteen years since you last saw it…" She replies heavily, giving him a challenge of a look.

"Well...One….that's mean. We were very different back then," He reminds her. "And you had just instated that little rule of yours," He reminds her, the very notion of it cutting.

"So you _did_ know that you were gonna ask me to work with you before you came to my door," She accuses, her eyes widening at the held information.

"No. I just...back then...I needed you, more like that than like this…" He says. "Which I now know was actually just...my fear of losing you." He tells her. "Of...screwing things up."

"Some things never change, I guess." She shrugs, feeling at odds with the situation at hand.

"Some things _have_ to change, Donna." He points out.

She can see by the look in his eyes, then, that he's well aware of their faults with regards to one another. How they played it so wrong, for so very long. But also aware that they seem the same as they did back then. That that part of them has always been there.

"So...about _the_ _talking_ …" He says, cutting their slightly charged silence in half.

"Harvey…we don't need to-" She starts, seeming to backtrack as she sits up, leaning against the headboard with an unsure look in her eyes.

"No." He argues. "We do. I owe it to you." He insists. "I...ran."

"You..ran?" She confirms.

He nods, insistent that she understand the difference. "Yes. I always...run from how I feel about you. But...I don't want to run anymore." He tells her.

"Did you love her?" She asks.

The words come like an invisible bullet that she didn't intend to shoot and one that he never saw coming.

He reigns in a breath, his jaw twitching. "I...loved her...but I'm not... ** _in_ _love_** with her." He clarifies, his eyes apologetic, careful as they look at her.

She nods for a moment, taking in the rather succinct answer.

"You...going to her? It hurt me." She states.

"I never did it to hurt you, Donna. I just…"

"What?" She asks.

"I guess...I was...attracted to the fact that...she's a little like _you_." He admits, sighing.

He knows it's the wrong thing to say when her face sharpens, that steely and purposeful look returning to her hazel eyes.

"See...that's where you're wrong, Harvey. We are _nothing_ alike. If _**I**_ had been her, and I knew that the woman closest to him, with a notable history was potentially the person he had a shot at being happy with, I would never, _ever_ have accepted his advances, no matter how strong." She tells him. "Leaving out for a moment that I was previously that person's therapist," She points out, her eyes bulging at the idiocy of such an idea.

"Bullshit. You don't _know_ that." He frowns, shaking his head. It's a low blow in his mind, cutting far deeper than he expected.

"What about Scottie? Huh?" She presses. "I _knew_ that you loved her, and that you _could_ be happy with her, and as much as the thought of losing you to her hurt me, I tried to get you see that she was in love with you. And that you had a chance to be in a loving relationship. And to take that chance with her, if that's what you wanted." She reaffirms. So far back and even then the same. "Regardless of how it turned out, Harvey, and how messy it became, I would have stepped back _for you_." She points out. "But **_Paula_**? She held onto you. When she had _no_ right. No matter if you went to her or not. And that...makes us very different."

It floors him. This flood of words coming from her. The lack of doubt in her reasoning.

He understands then, what it's taken for her to literally flee the country. To run from _him_. From the mess he helped conjure into being.

 **He** **fucked** **up**. On several levels. Betrayed her in a way that he had forgotten existed.

And she's right.

 _Like_ _always_.

He feels like an asshole again. That'll teach him for trying to invoke a clean slate between them. For insisting that they broach the subject so soon after such a perfect alteration in their relationship.

He knows now.

Their past is too messy to wash away with too plain a words.

He shuffles, sitting up to match her posture, reaching out to take her left hand in his right one. "I'm sorry that I hurt you, Donna." He tells her, his eyes bending with the guilt that awakens from such a pale truth in his lungs. Like something sterile with a white spirit burn. "I know I can't take it back but...I can sure as hell make up for it from here on out." He promises.

He watches her, on the precipice of her own peace of mind. He can almost see her weighing up the options, examining his words like a final statement in a courthouse full of witnesses.

"I'm _in love_ with you, Donna." He says, naturally gravitating closer to her. "And I don't want you to feel like you have to question that _ever_ again." He insists.

"Harvey…" She says, her gaze lowering. "I appreciate that," She says, diplomacy her only card left to play. "But you also need to tell me _that_...once in a while." She explains, giving him a heavy look as his hands fold around her and their knees brush, the feeling of her silky robe draping over his thigh.

"I know." He agrees, a reluctance to rehash things. "But I _do_ love you." He whispers in the space between them. " **Implicitly**." He adds, the words coming out like a hum against her jaw as he traces the lines of her face, etching them in his memory.

"That's _quite_ some _statement_ , _Specter_." She peels a moan, as his lips press seductively against the underside of her jaw.

"Well you're _quite_ some woman," He smirks against her skin, taking in the floral scent that still lingers in her hair, as his long fingers lace in between hers, pulling their left and right hands flush together as he moves to kneeling. "Now...I made myself a little _promise_ , that this morning...I would finish what I started last night." He tells her, low and sultry to match his directive.

"And what exactly is that?" She asks furtively, hiding the interest in her voice as she smirks at his obviousness.

"Oh...just a little….ritual." He divulges.

" _Reinstating it_ , are we?" She purrs against the feeling of his lips just below her ear, and her helpless but to feel his welcome advance.

"Mmm-hmmm," He hums in confirmation, pulling back to wrap his hands around her waist, gently sliding her onto her back. "No more can openers for us..." He mumbles against her skin.

She spreads out against the mattress with a lazy and expectant smile, closing her eyes to focus on the feeling of his lips and teeth and tongue sliding down to a rather inviting and oddly familiar scenario.

She could get used to this newer side of him,

Amongst the old, more familiar ones.

She feels every vowel,

And every consonant,

As he eagerly traces her name with his tongue.

. . . . .

 _ **If I lay here**_

 _ **If I just lay here**_

 _ **Would you lie with me**_

 _ **And just forget the world?**_

 _ **I don't quite know**_

 _ **How to say**_

 _ **How I feel**_

 _ **Those three words**_

 _ **Are said too much**_

 _ **They're not enough**_

 _ **If I lay here**_

 _ **If I just lay here**_

 _ **Would you lie with me**_

 _ **And just forget the world?**_

 _ **How to say**_

 _ **How I feel**_

 _ **Those three words**_

 _ **Are said too much**_

 _ **They're not enough**_

 _ **If I lay here**_

 _ **If I just lay here**_

 _ **Would you lie with me**_

 _ **And just forget the world?**_

 _ **All that I am**_

 _ **All that I ever was**_

 _ **Is here in your perfect eyes**_

 _ **They're all I can see**_

 _ **I don't know where**_

 _ **Confused about how as well**_

 _ **Just know that these things**_

 _ **Will never change for us at all**_

Chasing Cars By 'Snow Patrol'

. . . . . .

As always feed the kitty!


End file.
